


Poolboy

by camnoelgallavich, jinlin5



Series: Gallavich AUs [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Barebacking, Bipolar Disorder, Bipolar Ian Gallagher, Blow Jobs, Bottom Mickey Milkovich, Cheating, Daddy Kink, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enemies to Lovers, Infidelity, M/M, Mutual Pining, Paranoia, Past Connections, Riding, Rough Sex, Sexual Tension, Smut, Top Ian Gallagher, Unsafe Sex, internalized classism, the authors do not condone cheating, we just wanted to write something interesting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:54:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 170,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26149024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/camnoelgallavich/pseuds/camnoelgallavich, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinlin5/pseuds/jinlin5
Summary: Of-fucking-course he was running red hot for the pool boy. And of course, Clyde had hired someone Mickey would uncontrollably drool over. Probably another one of the goddamn ‘tests’ he was constantly subjecting Mickey to, to see if he could catch him ‘in the act’.________________________Mickey Miller (formerly Milkovich) is the trophy husband of a successful Northside dentist, trying to rise above his past and prove that he can be more than just a damaged thug. Ian Gallagher is working part time at Lip’s in-law’s pool cleaning company and kinda hates the pretentious clientele he is hired by, especially the ones pretending to be something they're not.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Mickey Milkovich/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Gallavich AUs [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1899244
Comments: 487
Kudos: 667
Collections: Gallavich Prompt - Enemies To Lovers Challenge





	1. Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.

**Author's Note:**

> TW// Themes of Infidelity and Emotional Abuse if this sort of thing is upsetting to you, this is unfortunately not the fic for you my friend! 
> 
> Find the authors on Insta/Twitter/Tumblr:
> 
> Jinlin5: Insta (@gallavich_doodles) // Tumblr (@doodlevich) 
> 
> camnoelgallavich: Insta (@cam.monaghanfan) // Twitter (@cam_monaghanfan)

[ ](https://ibb.co/JHLhqSP)  


It was another beautiful spring day on the North Side.

Although Mickey knew that, _logically_ , the sun had no choice but to shine on all of Chicago, it was hard to not feel like it was specifically aiming for his little plot of land on the North Side, as if opulent wealth attracted sunlight, or some shit. As he stood elevated on the veranda of the veritable mansion, he leaned against the railing with a cigarette hanging between his fingers. Tightening the belt of his black silk robe, he turned his face up at the sky with his eyes closed, soaking in the midday heat. Hearing some noise in front of him, Mickey dropped his gaze down into the expansive area behind his [home](https://ibb.co/YQMFx84), skimming over the tops of the trimmed topiary that enclosed the spacious backyard, hedging in the sizable inground pool, behind which, stretched a large lawn for the dogs.

Mickey had never been all that interested in the pool. He’d never learned how to swim, so the pool was a non-factor, mostly. He sure as hell wasn’t about to be the absolute pussy in his mid-twenties, who had to be taught to swim like a goddamn toddler; therefore, the pool wasn’t even on his radar most days.

Today was different.

Clyde, his husband of just over four years, had mentioned something about it that morning- something about hiring a new pool boy who would be arriving just before noon to clean the gunk out of the pool. Something about meeting the guy at the back gate. A half-conscious Mickey received a goodbye peck on the cheek before Clyde left their home, dental kit in hand. He was on his way to a few house calls for his exclusive clients, no doubt to yank several teeth out of the head of another geezer sitting on a large pile of old money. By the time Mickey hauled himself up and out of the sea of memory foam and goose-feathered pillows that comprised their fourposter bed, he was struggling to remember why in the flying fuck he was awake before noon.

The pool had been severely neglected over the winter months so, obviously, it needed a lot of work done before it would be up and running. If Clyde had bothered to ask his husband’s opinion, Mickey would have lamented about how fucking pointless it was, as the only action the pool had gotten in the past four years was the time the dogs jumped in while in hot pursuit of a squirrel. But Clyde always did what he wanted anyway, and it wasn’t as if they couldn’t afford to have it cleaned professionally, a hundred times over, so Mickey didn’t even bother voicing his objections. 

Presently, Mickey took a deep drag of his cigarette and let the smoke curl out of his nose. He had to admit, he had developed a sudden interest in the pool. It might’ve had something to do with the tall, lean redhead kneeling beside it, clearly swearing to himself as he fucked around with the pool filter. Maybe it helped that Mickey couldn’t tear his gaze away from the muscles that contracted and bulged under the tight, nearly translucent white t-shirt he wore. He had seen the man’s eyes when he had opened the back gate to let him in. Green. Like trees…and, fuck… emeralds. Mickey was having trouble thinking of other beautiful green things, but in fairness, he couldn’t really think about much of anything in the presence of the gorgeous pool boy.

Mickey knew he was spending a suspicious amount of time out on the veranda and taking far too long smoking his cigarette. The moment he saw he had burned it down to the filter, he simply fished the pack out of the pocket of his robe and pulled out another smoke. He crammed the filter between his lips and lit it up, all the while unable to take his eyes off of the stud traipsing around his back yard, cleaning shit and pissing Mickey off with how damn attractive he looked doing it. Every time he thought the guy- _Ian_ , Mickey suddenly remembered from their brief introductions earlier - was even remotely turned in his direction, he would force himself to look at anything else in a futile attempt to appear disinterested. When the ginger lifted his shirt to his forehead to wipe away the droplets of sweat trickling down from his hairline, Mickey may or may not have licked his lips.

_Of-fucking-course_ he was running red hot for the pool boy. And _of course_ , Clyde had hired someone Mickey would uncontrollably drool over. Probably another one of the goddamn ‘tests’ he was constantly subjecting Mickey to, to see if he could catch him ‘in the act’. Sure, Clyde had never done anything as outwardly fucked up as to hire a guy to try and convince Mickey to cheat on him, but he had done plenty of other little things to test the strength of the bond over the years. Mickey knew it was all about the _age thing_ \- Clyde had always been paranoid about the fact that he was nearly 30 years his husband's senior.

Mickey often got so frustrated by how jealous and petty Clyde could become that he was tempted to remind him that the _age thing_ wasn’t the only fucking weird thing about their relationship from the perspective of others. For starters, the way they had met for the first time definitely wasn’t very conventional.

Mickey had been a sharp tongued, gritty teen from the mean slums of Canaryville; a closeted juvenile delinquent just trying to prove himself to his prick of a father. And it had been a pretty messed up situation, the day he crossed paths with Clyde Miller for the first time. Mickey and his brothers had been in the middle of a B&E at a secluded summer home, feeling confident in their decision seeing as it was the off season and the place seemed abandoned. Swiping a few paintings and jacking the silverware, they had been interrupted by the owner himself rolling up to the property in a ruby red Camaro.

Iggy and Colin had managed to scram quicker than Mickey could blink, and although he couldn’t recall how, he had soon found himself backed into a corner with Clyde brandishing a pocketknife in his face. The tipping point came when Mickey reached for the knife, inadvertently brushing Clyde’s thigh with his erection. When they both clued in to the undeniable fact that the adrenaline of the precarious situation had managed to give them both raging hard-ons, it didn’t take long for things to migrate into the bedroom.

Things had evolved from there really. Clyde had promised he wouldn’t press charges and had slipped his phone number into the back pocket of Mickey’s grubby jeans when he sent him on his way. From that point on, it was a steady progression from taking Clyde’s calls in the early hours of the morning, to meeting up with him for dinner (which he always paid for), to spending their first ‘anniversary’ courtside at a Bulls game.

Mickey _liked_ Clyde. Mickey could even talk himself into _loving_ Clyde. But at the end of the day what he really loved was the attention. The relationship brought something completely foreign to the table- safety. He’d never felt security like that in his entire life. Growing up, it was hard to feel safe when you didn’t know when the next punch was going to land. Security was something Clyde had in fucking spades. And _sure_ , he liked to be the one in the proverbial driver’s seat, and Mickey knew deep down that his biggest appeal was being something young and exciting for Clyde. But, hey, Mickey’s entire damn life up to that point had been an exercise in ignoring the ugly things he didn’t want to see. Which is probably why, after two years of the closest thing to dating he ever experienced, he had agreed to marry the man who had come to represent his one-way ticket out of poverty.

So, there he was, six years later, standing out behind the mansion that was partly in his name, watching his $60,000 inground pool being cleaned. Legally, he was Mickey Miller, but make no mistake- he was still a Milkovich in every other sense. He was painfully reminded of it every time he looked at his hands, where the faint outline of “ **FUCK U-UP** ” was still visible if you squinted and stared long enough. Being introduced to the network of wealthy and important people Clyde associated with as one of the most respected dentists in Chicago, Mickey had come to resent his roots. If he was going to play the part of trophy husband, disowning the Southside was not a luxury, but a necessity.

Something about Ian screamed _Southside_ at a deafening volume to Mickey. He couldn’t quite figure out what it was, but from the moment he had laid eyes on him, could practically smell it on him- this guy had seen some messed up shit. 

So, although Mickey was fully able to appreciate Ian aesthetically, there was something deeply unsettling about him, like an unwelcome phantom from the life Mickey was actively trying to leave behind him. It was quite a strong feeling to have for a man he had met only hours before, Mickey realized. But his insides were knotted up all the same.

Mickey was busy gnawing his bottom lip raw and processing all of these conflicting thoughts, when Ian picked that exact moment to cast his gaze in Mickey’s direction. Mickey dropped his eyes towards the ground so rapidly it was almost painful. He was almost positive it wasn’t quick enough, however, as he felt Ian linger on him a beat too long, before he returned to his work. 

“Fuck _meee_ ,” Mickey groused to himself, blowing out a cloud of smoke he had been unintentionally holding in his lungs. Although, in reality, it was a beautiful day, Mickey felt a symbolic storm brewing on the horizon.

Ian could feel someone’s eyes on him as he worked, but he couldn’t say he wasn’t used to it. When he’d taken a job at Lip’s in-law’s pool company as a way to make extra cash over the summer, he’d been expecting some ogling from ‘ _The Rich Bitches of Chi-Town’_ , as Lip had so eloquently labeled them. Most of his EMT paycheck went towards rent, bills, and groceries, so this summer job was a good way to make some more money. Ian could handle being mentally disrobed by every housewife in the North Side if it meant he had some extra cash to help support Liam, and maybe even a little left over for himself when all was said and done. Cleaning pools was simple enough once he got the hang of it, and it even fit into his workout routine due to the hands-on nature of the work, and the surprising amount of heavy lifting.

It was supposed to be just another routine cleaning. The house Ian was working at was large and gaudy, just like all the others in the private Northside neighborhoods that he often frequented. It was a far cry from what he was accustomed to on North Wallace, and he was surprised at the visceral reaction it pulled from him to see people living in such opulence and comfort. The whole “one percent” idea was really fucking with his mind, considering he and the rest of the Gallagher army had always been an unwilling part of the other ninety-nine; the unwashed masses. As far as he could tell, most of the bastards he worked for were old money, and absolutely _none_ of them understood how fucking privileged they were.

Ian was really settling into the groove of his pool cleaning routine, and he was pleased with the progress he had made so far. It was just after noon now, and he had already managed to scrape out all of the leaves and debris from the old filter (easier said than done) and replace it, adding two chlorine tablets to the basket for good measure.

As he straightened up and wiped his brow with the back of his hand, Ian couldn’t help but feel the eyes boring into him. Turning instinctually towards the source, he took note of the presumed owner of the house leaning against the railing of the veranda, making a concerted and poorly timed effort to avert his eyes the second Ian turned to face him. Although the sun was in his eyes blocking him from picking out fine details, Ian was pretty damn positive the on looker was the man who had opened the gate for him when he’d first arrived.

Ian had almost dropped the 20lb tub of chlorine tablets he was carrying when the back gate had opened up to reveal a handsome young man about his age. He was thrown off by both the youth and the immediate attraction he felt, as he’d been expecting to be greeted by his usual clientele- uptight older men who barely bothered to look at him while they spoke, or heavily Botox-ed cougars who could barely keep their hands off of him.

Needless to say, when a stocky blue-eyed brunette with a serious case of bedhead and a dairy curdling scowl was the one to be his backyard tour guide, well… Ian wasn’t exactly complaining. He’d been so stunned he definitely missed the guy’s name, if he’d even given it to Ian in the first place. The blue eyes looking back at him while they conversed were mesmerizing and Ian had to chastise himself several times for getting so caught up on the man’s appearance as he followed him into the backyard.

Thankfully, Ian had snapped himself out of the trace just in time to ask him a few standard questions about the pool, but most of them went unanswered. He had been met with a lot of shrugs and ‘ _dunno’s_ from the brunette, to the point where he had found it taxing his patience. Who the _fuck_ has a inground pool worth tens-of-thousands installed in their back yard, and doesn’t bother to learn a damn thing about the thing? It was just another thing that pissed Ian off about these rich assholes- they just didn’t seem to appreciate anything they had. That being said, it was hard to ignore how hot the man looked in, what appeared to be, nothing more than loosely tied robe and boxers, so it was difficult to maintain his fundamental rage.

Ian found himself wondering if he was reading in to things too much, or if the man normally took smoke breaks every fucking five minutes. After scooping out algae and other debris in the water for nearly an hour, Ian had successfully finished adding in some preliminary chemicals to the water, and decided to move onto the next step which entailed vacuuming up all the grime from the pool floor. On his way to retrieve the large underwater vacuum from the truck, he took the opportunity to check his company issued work phone to finally read the homeowner’s name. He didn’t know why the hell he cared; it wasn’t as if not knowing the man’s name would stop him from doing his job. But he just had to have a peek anyway.

Despite himself, Ian was a little surprised when he scrolled and saw the name. _Clyde_ , huh? _There is no way in hell this guy’s name is_ **_CLYDE_ ** , Ian thought suspiciously. _You don’t look at a fucking face like that and name it_ **_Clyde_ **.

Ian returned to the back-yard moments later, dragging the mammoth vacuum behind him. The pool floor was caked in dirt and he was going to need to let the thing run for at least an hour to suck up all the gunk while he balanced the chemicals in the pool. He hefted the monstrous machine into the pool, bracing himself for the ensuing splash. Now just to plug it in. Ian puffed out a breath as he glanced around, slowly realizing that he was going to have to approach the owner and ask where he could locate an outlet. _Fuck_. He wasn’t even sure if the man would know where the nearest outlet was, despite it being his own backyard. After all, every question Ian had asked up until that point was met with maddening indifference. Ian decided it was best to just get it over with, and so he began to approach the veranda purposefully, leaving the coiled up extension cord behind him. 

The man (Clyde???) seemed to be ignoring him on purpose, which only served to sour Ian’s mood further. He seemed far too absorbed in the cigarette he was holding, and it dawned on Ian suddenly how strange the situation was to him; he very rarely saw these rich assholes smoke. They were usually all on one health kick or another and determined to keep the Northside air as pure and clean as possible.

Clearing his throat, Ian flashed his best fake-ass customer service smile. “Mr. Miller?”

The man finally looked up at him but, he didn’t respond. At least not verbally. He just sort of… _stared_ at Ian, eyebrows in their permanently furrowed slate, slanted inward and lifted up at the ends, a combination of pissed off and surprised. Ian forged ahead, determined to not the little shit get to him. “Is there a free outlet around here somewhere?”

Mickey’s palms had been getting increasingly sweatier the closer the red-head got to the veranda, but it hadn’t even crossed his mind that Ian was gearing up to speak to him. He was sure that Ian probably thought he was a victim of heatstroke or something judging by how long it took Mickey to open his mouth and spit something out.

“Huh?” No one would ever accuse Mickey of being long winded.

“An outlet,” Ian repeated, although he could feel his patience thinning out rapidly. When he was met with yet another unreadable stare he elaborated begrudgingly, “For the pool vac? It can’t clean if it doesn’t have power. I brought an extension cord with me- I just need an outlet to plug it into.”

Mickey blinked. “Oh fuck… uh. Yeah. Pretty sure there’s one around here…” Mickey stumbled through the sentence as he meticulously stubbed out every last ember from the butt of his cigarette into the crystal ashtray beside him. After a few seconds he glanced down again, realizing that Ian was still standing in the same spot, clearly waiting for a follow up.

“Guess I should probably show you where it is,” Mickey huffed. This was much more interaction with the object of his desires than he had been expecting, and honestly, more than he wanted. He had been perfectly fine admiring from a far. 

Mickey shuffled across the patio to the steps, in order to join Ian on the concrete landing below. He swept past the man, refusing to spare him a glance, lest his brain cease to function again. “I’m never really out here, man,” Mickey mentioned offhandedly, listening intently to Ian’s footsteps following him back towards the pool.

He dropped to one knee beside the row of lounging chairs that skirted the edge of the pool. The was a metal panel there, almost blending into the concrete if not for the way it winked at Mickey in the sunlight. Once he located the edges of the panel he was searching for, Mickey pressed his fingers into the grooves of the panel and watched it pop open, revealing two outlets as well as three separate USB ports for charging phones. Mickey stood and folded his arms across his barrel chest, catching those green eyes for a split second. “Clyde’s got these little motherfuckers hidden all over the place,” Mickey sniffed and scratched at the back of his neck, feeling more than a little strange about mentioning his husband to the guy that had been the subject of his sordid daydreams for the past hour. 

Ian couldn’t stop watching the dark-haired man as he sucked his bottom into his mouth, tenderizing the pink flesh with his teeth. _Not Clyde, then_.

Finally, Mickey plucked up the courage to actually sustain his gaze in Ian’s direction. _Christ_ \- he was even more annoyingly attractive when you were looking at him straight on. The sunlight turned his hair a vibrant copper and Mickey was shocked to see that Ian had been standing closer than he had anticipated- close enough for Mickey to count the fucking freckles that dusted the bridge of his nose.

_Fuck_ , he’d been staring for Ian for too long. Mickey averted his eyes and waffled, jamming his hand back in the pocket of his robe and locating his trusty pack of cigarettes. “You smoke?” He asked roughly, holding the pack out to the glistening man, trying to school some much-needed nonchalance into his voice.

“Uh… yeah. Let me just plug this in,” Ian decided he wasn’t about to turn down the offer of a smoke on the job. The man apparently hadn’t seen fit to move out of the way, so in order to reach the outlet Ian had to slide between Mickey and a chair, with his ass accidentally bumping Mickey’s hip for a fraction of second. “Sorry.” He mumbled a quick apology and reached down to slot the prongs of the plug into the outlet. The vacuumed roar to life, and Ian was satisfied to see the water become unsettled and bubble a little, indicating the equipment was doing it’s job properly.

Ian straightened, and gave his host another once over. The man was fidgeting like he had finished off at least one rail of coke that morning; and Ian once again couldn’t put his finger on it, but something about the energy the guy gave off made him seem out of place, surrounded by the finer things. Ian heard the little voice in the back of his head screaming to give it up and leave well enough alone. But he had never been particularly good at doing that.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name earlier…?” Ian prompted as he reached into the outstretched pack. Clyde could be his dad, his brother, or… his boyfriend? Husband? _God I feel like a fuckin’ creep._ Ian thought to himself. He really wanted to believe that the man was gay, just so he would know there was a chance in hell, however small, that this guy would be interested. The concept of a husband, however, posed some unique moral problems that Ian had not been anticipating. It was stupid anyway. Pointless. The last thing Ian needed was to tangle himself up with yet _another_ entitled jackass.

Mickey was so busy watching Ian’s long fingers carefully extricate a cigarette from the pack he was holding that he- again- took ages to respond, once he even registered what was being asked of him. “Mickey.” He answered curtly, and once the threads of passing thoughts connected in his mind he realized Ian was probably confused; the correspondence Ian had probably indicated to him that the client’s name was Clyde Miller and he most likely had been expecting Clyde to be the one to be home during the cleaning. 

“Clyde’s my husband,” Mickey announced as he placed yet another cigarette in his own mouth and lit it up. He casually offered his custom engraved Zippo (a birthday present from the aforementioned husband) in Ian’s direction, not so subtly flashing this disgustingly expensive wedding band in the process. He watched as Ian’s expression switched, openly curling his lips in distain. It made Mickey bristle, mainly because he didn’t know why he gave a fuck what this guy thought of him and his life.

The momentary break in Ian’s cordial demeanor was enough to keep Mickey talking. “Just in case you were trying to figure out who the fuck I am or somethin’. He has this annoying habit of hiring people to come do random things around the property and then double booking himself with work. Then I’m the one stuck explaining where he is to the poor bastards…who usually couldn’t give less of a shit... just like I am now.” Mickey’s internal dialogue was one long string of _shut up shut up shut up shut the fuck up_ , and he honestly had no clue why he was still explaining himself to the pool boy.

To his credit, Ian just nodded and listened to him babble as he lit his own cigarette. Mickey exhaled a large puff of smoke and realized the sweat dripping down the small of his back was only partially due to the hot weather. This red-head was bad news… Mickey didn’t know if he was gay, but apparently it didn’t matter to his body- the reaction was happening whether he wanted it to or not, and Mickey fucking hated him for it.

“Look man, you can sit if you want,” Mickey gestured towards the pool chairs. “No point in standing around in the heat during a smoke break.” 

“Thanks.” Ian sat down and took a drag of his cigarette. The upside? He was now positive that the scantily clad man that plopped down in the lawn chair opposite him was indeed gay. The downside? Mickey was also very clearly married. Not that it mattered. At least, it _shouldn’t_ have. And yet, Ian had this uncontrollable urge, to throw some bait into the water. See if he could get Mickey to bite. He internally debated being this person again - going for a married guy - but it was just too tempting to resist. Mickey was hot as fuck, even if he did appear to be a rich prick.

“Jesus, it’s hot out today. Definitely wasn’t prepared when I left my place this morning.” Ian pulled his shirt up and wiped his face again. “Fuck it.” He mumbled, pulling the shirt off over his head, careful to avoid the hot cherry of the cigarette that hung from his lips. Setting himself on fire in front this dude was not on his short list of fun summer activities. “You don’t mind if I take this off do you?” Ian asked, too little, to late. He looked up towards Mickey, partially hoping he would shut down so he could move the fuck on and stop thinking about it. Mickey didn’t strike him as a ‘beat around the bush’ kind of guy. 

Mickey blinked, frozen in a moment of disbelief. Had he just heard correctly? How in the fuck had he been transported from his backyard and onto the set of a badly written porno. Mickey’s eyes scanned over the man’s pale collarbones and his taught, freckled biceps. His traitorous gaze rested for a split second too long on the light smattering of copper chest hair covering his pronounced pecs. At the last minute decided against following the narrowing trail any further down his body. Mickey wasn’t entirely sure if Ian was trying something by striping his shirt off like a goddamn porn star, or if the guy was just an unfortunate combination of straight and clueless. Either way it made him want to scream.

“Do whatever you want, man.” Mickey shrugged, feigning disinterest. In order to, further make his point, he removed the waning cigarette from his mouth, snorting and spitting onto the pavement. He imagined the little puddle of saliva hitting the hot concrete and actually hissing like an egg in a pan. “Don’t matter to me. You got some pale ass skin, though. Hope you’re prepared for one hell of a fucking sunburn,” Mickey added, as he crushed the cigarette out into yet another crystal ashtray, placed on the table beside the lawn chairs for his ultimate convenience. 

Ian snorted back a bout of wry laughter. This guy had to be a Southside native, Ian was almost positive- the spitting, the swearing, the smoking where all dead giveaways that Mickey had only recently become acquainted with Northside living, and he sure as hell wasn’t raised in it. Ian could see right through the telltale tough exterior, being from the back of the Yards himself. Clearly, Mickey had traded up in life and _Clyde_ was the man who had made it all happen when he’d placed that expensive ass ring on Mickey’s finger. This possible narrative made the indignation Ian had been experiencing all morning even more justified, in his mind.

“I got it covered,” Ian stated plainly, glancing sideways at Mickey as he took another drag. “This is my job. I’m outside in the sun all day long. I use a whole bottle of SPF one-million on myself every morning. I don’t have a choice- gotta pay the bills somehow.” The last part may have been a pointed jab; Ian’s way of letting off steam.

Ian took the last drag of his cigarette before he moved to stub it out in the [ashtray](https://ibb.co/p28yWXG). He noticed something catching the light and pulled the ashtray casually across the table so he could get a better look. He could see a beautiful snowflake pattern at the bottom of the glass, covered in ash. In the center, Ian could make out three letters engraved into the crystal, encrusted in what appeared to be diamonds: **_M. A. M._ ** It quickly clicked that those must have been Mickey’s initials, which made the whole thing even more obscenely obnoxious.

Mickey watched Ian brazenly inspecting the ashtray. He could literally feel the judgement radiating off Ian and he didn’t know if he could take it anymore. It didn’t take twenty-twenty vision to see plain as day that Mickey didn’t belong in such beautiful surroundings- wearing silk, using crystal ashtrays and flashing the expensive rock on his finger. Ian seemed to recognize that fact and was in strong agreeance.

Mickey felt an ancient rage heating up in the pit of his stomach, born from years of having to justify his life and his choices to every single person he had come across. What made it worse was that he couldn’t seem to figure out why this attractive pool boy’s unspoken opinions were even on his radar. There was a sort of carnal attraction there that he couldn’t quite explain despite the obvious tension. It was fucking weird. Mickey decided that he didn’t have to put up with it any longer.

“Whatever you say, man.” Mickey stood abruptly and tightened the belt of his robe around his midsection, as if suddenly realizing that he had been waltzing around in nothing but boxers under the loose fitting swath of fabric. “I’ll leave you to it, ” He flapped a hand in the direction of the pool, where the underwater vacuum hummed noisily as he worked, “Let you get back to… whatever the fuck you were doing here.” And with that Mickey took his leave, not even waiting for a response. He quick-stepped it up back onto the veranda and towards the crystal-clear sliding glass door that separated Clyde’s study from the back yard.

Ian rolled his eyes as he watched Mickey up and leave abruptly. Perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea to piss off the clearly spoiled husband of the man who had hired him. Ian couldn’t bring himself to care. For as much as Mickey was easy on the eyes, Ian wasn’t sure if there was substance there; he had yet to find any traces of a redeemable personality, other than the offer of a cigarette and a seat which didn’t really amount to much in the long run. Ian licked his dry lips and cursed himself for having gulped up all the water he had brought with him during an earlier house call. Ian picked himself up from his chair, intent on finishing his work and pleased at the lack of gorgeous, married douchebags getting in his way. 

_The sooner I can get out of here, the better_ , Ian decided.


	2. It’s really none of my goddamn business.

[ ](https://ibb.co/P5PRrDG)

The moment Mickey heard the door click into place, he hurried away from the glass, sinking himself into the large, brown leather office chair behind his husband’s desk on the opposite side of the room. He made certain he was hidden from the view of any nosey, judgemental red-heads, before he dropped his head into his hands, and kneaded his eye sockets aggressively, like he was trying to rub the imprint of Ian’s stupid-handsome face right out of them. 

His relationship with Clyde had always been a sure thing, and Mickey needed it to stay that way. He had finally made it somewhere in life. He had things now. Things worth holding onto - and fooling around with the pool boy seemed like a damn good way of ensuring that those things would be snatched away from him.

Speaking of Clyde, how long would it be before he arrived home? Mickey couldn’t even remember if Clyde had told him how long he would be away before leaving that morning, but in his defense, Mickey had been barely conscious. Sometimes his house-calls only took a couple of hours, and sometimes he had a full day lined up, causing him to arrive home well after the sun had set. Perhaps the more important question was, how long would it take Ian to clean the pool?

Mickey had a funny feeling that every minute that Ian was out there, shirtless, and practically secreting pheromones, would be literal torture - a tantalizing game of ‘what if?’. And there was not a fucking thing Mickey could do but hole himself up inside, stay away from the windows, and wait until the poolboy was done.

Leaning his head back against the plush headrest of the office chair, Mickey decided only one thing could make him feel like less of a shitty person. Pursing his lips, he whistled as loudly and sharply as he could. “Ay yo! Shitheads! Where ya at?” When he didn’t hear any movement heading in his direction, Mickey sat forward a bit, staring at the open study door and letting out another ear-splitting whistle. “Bax! Mims! Get your asses in here!”

After a few moments of waiting in silence, the familiar sound of galloping paws filled the hallway outside the door like thunder, and the booming barks mixed with shrill yips were enough to make Mickey break out into an instant smile. He braced himself when the two mutts ripped around the corner, practically tripping over one another to reach him. Baxter, Mickey’s hyper [ Akita Inu ](https://ibb.co/XSCtSV1), got to him first, planting his front paws up on his owner’s lap and immediately attempting to cover Mickey in a coating of drool.

“Hey, buddy!” Mickey greeted excitedly, simultaneously leaning back to escape being bathed in dog slobber while reaching forward to scratch his dog’s neck vigorously. Mickey then felt the tugging at the bottom of his robe that signaled that Mimsy, Clyde’s elderly [ corgi ](https://ibb.co/hM7DkwQ), was searching for attention too. “Alright, alright Bax! Chill the fuck out for a second!” Mickey gently batted the overly excited dog out of his face, and leaned down to pat Mimsy’s head. “Sup, you old bitch…” He hummed fondly. “How about you two distract me for a bit, huh?”

Miraculously, Ian had managed to distract himself from the strange encounter with Mickey by investing his full attention into cleaning the pool over the next few hours.

It may have been a strange thing to admit, but Ian had come to find something oddly soothing about cleaning other people’s dirty pools, which was certainly not something he could have envisioned himself saying when Lip had talked him into taking the job. To really get his mind off of Mickey, Ian found himself contemplating this interesting revelation, trying to figure out why the fuck he considered hosing down grime covered tiles in the back yards of strangers to be so satisfying.

Perhaps it was the same reason that being an EMT had such an appeal: Ian liked order. He liked being given a task and completing it to the best of his ability. Ian’s mental illness had made it nearly impossible in the past, but he now heavily relied on order to remain balanced. Since he had reincorporated this routine back into his life, he hadn’t been sleeping for days on end or rolling on molly every night at some hole-in-the-wall in Boystown. 

Ian was doing well for himself, managing to hold down two jobs, having time left over to spend with his family, and, on the rare occasion, going out with his friends. 

Which was exactly the reason why Ian would not let himself fuck up all of that personal growth by getting tangled up with a married man, no matter how tempting the concept was.

Ian busied himself by balancing the chemicals in the pool while he waited for the pool vacuum to finish doing its job. He measured and poured the exact amounts of each required chemical into the pool water one after the other: shock, pH up, and algaecide, topping it off by adding another chlorine tablet to the filter since the first ones had mostly dissolved. Attacking the enormous pool with a shit-ton of chlorine would be the only way to clear up all of the remaining algae, which was giving the water that sickly green tint. The color didn’t exactly inspire a dip in the pool and that was the entire point of Ian being there, he supposed. After dealing with so many disgusting pools the previous summer as a new employee, Ian was fairly confident that he would have the water looking practically tropical after a few rounds of cleaning. 

Ian worked steadily, straight through lunch. He decided against taking a break to eat, which was not something that he would have sacrificed on a normal day. In fact, he typically took longer lunch breaks than he was technically supposed to - Ian got paid for every hour he spent at a clients house, including breaks, and it really satiated some vindictive part of him to milk those affluent kombucha swilling motherfuckers of every penny he could manage.

Today, however, Ian wasn’t in the mood to stay for any longer than was absolutely necessary. This was his only client for the day, and all Ian wanted was to pick up a few slices from his favorite pizza joint on the way home, smoke one of the medical grade joints he had been saving for a special occasion, and play video games until his thumbs fell off.

Maybe then Ian would be able to stop himself from thinking about fucking another man’s husband.

Ian was fishing the final bits of debris out with a telescopic net when he finally gave himself permission to glance in the direction of the ostentatious mansion. He immediately recognized this as a mistake, because the moment he did, his brain was flooded with every thought about Mickey he had been holding back while he worked.

The problem was Ian found himself overwhelmingly curious about what Mickey’s appeal was. It was something he couldn’t get a read on, which made it all the more frustrating and intriguing.

_A fucking trophy husband_ , Ian snorted to himself, as he walked back over to retrieve his abandoned shirt from the lounge chair, using it to wipe away the sweat that was now pouring down his face. How the hell had a man who was so rough and tumble - so obviously an alien creature who crash landed on the Northside - managed to trick some deep-pocketed magnate into locking him down. Not that Mickey couldn’t have achieved it on looks alone. But Ian, perhaps naively, figured there had to be more involved in a marriage than just wanting to bone one another all the time.

It was probably possible that Mickey and his husband were just ridiculously happy and in love with one another.

Ian somehow fucking doubted it.

He let his gaze linger on the mansion temporarily, before turning sharply and doubling back toward the pool to gather up and unplug the vacuum.

_It’s really none of my goddamn business_ , Ian reminded himself repeatedly as he worked. And yet, thoughts of Mickey continued to overtake him like an invading army, making the driving afternoon heat all the more unbearable.

“Mr. Miller! I thought for sure you’d be out in the yard, enjoying this gorgeous day!”

Mickey all but jumped out of his skin when Alice, the newly hired weekend maid, greeted him out of blue. Fists clenched, he whirled around, from where he had been leaning across the expansive marble topped island in the middle of the kitchen, reaching for the jar of vegan dog treats Clyde always kept on hand.

The canines swarming around his feet were immediately stirred up into a yapping frenzie upon noticing the intruder. Mickey had finally changed into something other than his robe and boxers; the Slayer t-shirt and cut off jean shorts were probably safer on Alice’s unsuspecting eyes.

“Jesus, Alice…” Mickey huffed out after loudly hushing the riled-up dogs into silence, “You gotta start learning how to make more noise when you enter a room. And how many times do I gotta tell you to quit with the _Mr. Miller_ shit? If Clyde wants you to call him that, fine. But you can just call me Mickey, a’right?”

Alice’s sunny disposition didn’t waver even a little bit, which Mickey found both enchanting and intensely off putting. “Right... _Mickey_.” She corrected herself, placing the paper bags of groceries she was carrying under each arm down onto the counters adjacent to Mickey. She smoothed her fingers down over her starched blue uniform, complete with an actual fucking apron (Mickey would never get over the fact that Clyde actually made their staff wear that shit). To Mickey, she looked like a classic mom-type, middle aged and good-hearted. Like the kind of woman who would ask you how your day has been and actually listen to your answer. 

Alice began putting the groceries away dutifully, and Mickey finally retrieved some dog treats, squatting to the floor and making both dogs sit quietly for a minute before placing a few biscuits on the floor for each of them, which they promptly lost their minds over. When he stood back up, Mickey noticed Alice regarding him out of the corner of her eye as she worked.

“Have you eaten since breakfast?” She asked. Even though she had only been working at the Miller Estate for a few months, Alice felt like she had Mickey’s patterns figured out. She tried to keep the enormous double doored titanium fridge stocked with his favorite beer, and always checked in to make sure he was eating when Clyde was away. Otherwise, without fail, she would find him scarfing down half charred pizza rolls over the sink. “Should I start preparing something for dinner tonight, or-”

“Hm? Oh, nah, don’t bother…” Mickey waved at her dismissively. He seemed to be very preoccupied, having wandered over to the bay windows, leaving a mass of writhing dog in his wake.

Alice couldn’t help but take note of Mickey as he peered out through the glass and into the backyard, appearing to be trying - as strange as it seems - to shield his body behind the window frame. “I have no fucking clue when Clyde’s gonna be home tonight anyway.” Mickey grumbled. He had tried texting his husband twice already since he had come inside, but as usual, he received no answer. “I’ll just get something later.”

Alice finished stocking the last of the dry foods into the cupboard, and, against her better judgement, decided to have a peek out the window over the sink, hoping to discover what in the world had captured Mickey’s attention. The last thing she was expecting to see was the distant figure of a shirtless ginger working away near the pool, but it only took a few moments for her brain to catch up with her eyes. It was all at once exceedingly clear why Mickey seemed so interested in the backyard. Alice chastised herself, but there was something about the _scandal_ of what was potentially transpiring that made her heart begin to race.

“Dr. Miller hired a new pool boy?” Alice questioned, staring at the gorgeous man for a few more seconds before tearing her eyes away to cast a sideways glance at her employer.

“Uh, yeah…guess so…” Mickey had to tear his eyes away from Ian’s chiselled figure in order to properly address Alice, scraping his thumb against his bottom lip as he spoke. “Hey, listen. I mean… it’s Sunday afternoon, you’ve been here all day. You probably got shit you wanna do. You should take off early.”

A wide grin spread across Alice’s face, and she intentionally pushed away any thoughts about the implications of Mickey’s kind gesture. “Are you sure?” She wasn’t about to turn down the offer of extra free time. 

Mickey leaned back to glance out the bay window quickly one last time before answering. “‘Course I’m sure. Clyde won’t give a damn, and I sure as hell don’t.”

“Thank you! Thank you… _Mickey_ ,” Alice only hesitated for a split second before she let the name go, remembering how at her previous place of employment, she would have been fired on the spot for calling her employers by their first names. 

As she sidestepped Baxter and Mimsy, who were locked in a vicious wrestling match over the last dog treat, she remembered that there was something she wanted to mention.

“Oh! That’s right! I wanted to let you know, this morning I made some of that iced tea you and Dr. Miller love so much! I figured you’d need some on a hot day like today. The pitcher’s in the fridge. And thank you again, for letting me go home early, my kids will appreciate it…” Alice sounded breathless by the time she made her exit, practically dancing towards the hallway that led to the grand foyer.

“Don’t worry about it!” Mickey was already making his way over to the fridge in search of the promised iced tea as he called after her. He yanked open the door and immediately spied the large glass pitcher on the bottom most shelf, filled with liquid gold, as far as Mickey was concerned. Before reaching for it, Mickey leaned his weight slightly on the door of the massive fridge and simply let the glacial air wash over him.

_The_ **_fuck_ ** _are you doing?_ Mickey reprimanded himself. He desperately wanted to believe that he had let Alice go early out of the kindness of his heart or something, but Mickey could hardly fool himself.

He had spent the last few hours of the afternoon alternating between playing with the dogs and then pacing in the master bedroom - virtually the only room in the enormous house that overlooked the _front_ courtyard instead of the _back_. His plan to simply not think about Ian had been an overwhelming failure, which is why Mickey now found himself in the kitchen, glaring at the glistening pitcher of iced tea under the fluorescent fridge lightening, contemplating his next move.

Ian had to be exhausted by now, right? Mickey had never cleaned a pool in his goddamn life, but from what little he had seen through the window, it didn’t exactly look like a walk in the park.

“Wonder if he likes iced tea…” Mickey murmured aloud.

And the thing was, he _knew_ what he was doing.

He knew what risks he was taking by even letting himself go there.

_Calm the fuck down. You can offer the guy a drink without sucking his dick, dumbass._

And for what it was worth, the odds were that Ian was completely straight and very much uninterested. Mickey used this bit of self-reassurance to propel himself into action, slamming the fridge door shut behind him and heading back in the direction of Clyde’s study.

Ian had just started packing up for the day, gathering up his various pieces of equipment, when Mickey pushed back the sliding glass doors and stepped out onto the veranda. Mickey looked just as frustratingly attractive to Ian as he had the last time, despite having changed out of the tantalizing robe and boxers combination.

Taking a deep breath, Ian plastered on his most charming customer service smile - the one he had to practice in the mirror to make sure it didn’t look as fucking awkward as it always felt. He knew he had some sucking up to do if he wanted to preserve his professionalism. 

“Hey man, perfect timing!” Ian called out cheerfully, shading his eyes with his hands to avoid squinting more than necessary. He was a little surprised to see Mickey steadily approaching, descending from the veranda, and sauntering towards him at a deliberate pace. “I was just wrapping things up. The pool won’t be ready to swim in for a few more days, but the water will be blue by tomorrow night, once the chlorine dissolves.”

Mickey came to a halt a few feet from the redhead and tried his best not to ogle him. He mostly kept his eyes trained on the concrete, only occasionally glancing up at Ian. It was a difficult task; the man somehow still managed to retain a striking glow despite the hours of labor he had just put in. Maybe it was just the sweat.

“S’all good man, I won’t be the one getting in there anyway. Not much of a swimmer.” Mickey kicked himself mentally. Why would he say that shit out loud? He had come outside to offer Ian a reprieve from the heat and a glass of iced tea, not to fucking air out all his personal shortcomings.

He quickly moved on, in order to cover up the blunder. “Any idea how you’re gettin’ paid? Like are we gonna be gettin’ an invoice or-?” Maybe it was nosey of him to ask, but he had no idea what else to say while he was working up to the real question. 

“Nah, I get sent out after everything is already paid for. My notes say that your husband paid for maintenance for the months of May and June to get everything up and running, so I’ll be around again at the end of the week to make sure all the chemicals are balanced. From then on, I’ll just be here as needed.”

Ian was perplexed. What was the point of having an expensive ass pool sitting out in the back yard if you didn’t even plan on enjoying it? Much less paying to get it professionally cleaned. Ian took this as just another indication that these people had way too much fucking money on their hands. He narrowly avoided rolling his eyes into the back of his skull and managed to not let his smile waver.

“Trust me, you’ll want to get in by the time I’m done with it.” Ian assured him confidently, grabbing his shirt from the lounge chair to sling it over his shoulder, “Or have some family come over to swim or something, just so all my hard work doesn’t go to waste.”

_What family_? Mickey was tempted to say, but mercifully he was able to shut himself up. His homophobic prick of a father was serving time, his sister was in some other state living her own life, and his brothers refused to talk to him, citing him as a ‘traitor’ to the Southside for tying the knot with Clyde. 

Instead he just nodded and shrugged, folding his arms out in front of himself defensively as he watched Ian puttering around again, gathering up his supplies.

The vibe that Ian was giving off seemed to be different then the last time Mickey had been outside. Mickey couldn’t quite put a pin in what changed, but he couldn’t help but wonder if this plausible Southsider was on the same page as his brothers; if Ian thought he was a pussy for ‘trading up’. Mickey tried to shove this useless thought down and just spit out the question he came to ask in the first place. “Aye! Uh… do you like iced tea?” 

Ian was caught off guard by this question. Although it wasn’t really an invitation in so many words, he got the gist of where Mickey was going with it. He didn’t really know why the guy was offering him something to drink when he was on his way out, but he reminded himself to play nice. 

Whether he liked it or not, he’d probably be seeing Mickey on every trip he made to the house to keep up with pool maintenance, and the last thing he needed was a shitty review at the end of it all. It was better to just go along to get along, and besides, the idea of a cool glass of iced tea after being out in the sun all day was extraordinarily appealing. 

“I mean… yeah. Obviously. Who doesn’t?” Ian shrugged, stooping to unplug the cord of the pool vacuum from the outlet, and realizing too little too late that his words came out a tad more standoffish than he had intended.

To say Mickey was rebuffed was an understatement. _Naturally,_ the one time he was making a solid attempt to be personable, he was stuck with the one prick on earth who wouldn’t appreciate it. Flaring his nostrils, Mickey felt his white-trash nature threatening to make a surprise appearance, as cantankerous as ever after years of being silenced.

“Well, I was gonna invite you inside for a drink, smart ass. But if you’re gonna be a fucking dick about it-” Mickey clamped his mouth shut. _Fuck_ . So much for being _personable_. He shouldn’t have said it, but there wasn’t anything he could do to take it back.

In his natural habitat, Ian might’ve decked the guy for such an outburst, but as he turned to address Mickey, he repeatedly reminded himself that he was speaking to a paying customer. “Sorry, that was my bad. Probably shoulda phrased that differently. In my defense, I skipped lunch today, and that’s usually enough to bring out my inner jackass.” He offered the apology with a kind smile. 

Ian kind of hated himself for it, but when his gaze landed on the man, he once again felt the magnetic spark of attraction between them. It made absolutely no fucking sense what so-ever, and yet it seemed undeniable.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Mickey shook his head in disbelief that he was even still trying to be congenial, and planted his hands on his hips. He took an extended moment to contemplate whether he still had it in him to be a halfway decent person. If the guy was just a little more ugly or repulsive, it may have been an easier decision.

Abruptly, Mickey spun around and started back up the walkway towards the house, looking back at Ian briefly and making a lazy motion for him to follow.

“Let’s go then, man. All I can offer you is iced tea; just let the maid go home early and she’s the only one around here who knows how to make food that doesn’t taste like dogshit.” Mickey grinned, then added, “Speaking of dogshit, I hope you like getting fuckin’ slobbered on...”

Ian was ready to ask a follow up question regarding the slobber comment, but quickly decided against it, choosing instead to wordlessly follow Mickey up the walkway, while forcing his shirt down over his head in order to pull it on and jogging a few steps to catch up.

Halfway up the steps of the veranda, it dawned on Ian exactly what Mickey had said to him.

_Wait- the_ **_maid_ ** _?_ He balked to himself. It wasn’t really all that unexpected - after all anyone who could afford an inground pool and a house that large could certainly spare some coin to hire people to keep it clean. Yet, it sounded so foreign and self-important to him to reference another living breathing person as _the maid_.

The world Mickey apparently lived in was undoubtedly in a different dimension than he could have ever hoped to inhabit. Ian wasn’t sure he would have wanted to, or even if he could. But he figured he could visit it for long enough to drink a glass or two of iced tea.

Where was the harm in that?

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos appreciated <3 We hope you enjoyed!


	3. So... do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your support! We absolutely love all the feedback we are receiving! Feel free to hit us up on insta, twitter or tumblr to ask questions or let us know what you think 😌❤️
> 
> Jinlin5- insta: @gallavich_doodles; tumblr: @doodlevich  
> camnoelgallavich- insta: @cam.monaghanfan; Twitter: @cam_monaghanfan
> 
> Enjoy!

Ian stepped past the threshold into the kitchen and instantly understood what Mickey meant about the drool. Two dogs, of drastically different size and shape, flew past their owner and barreled directly at him, excited by the arrival of a newcomer. 

The larger of the two leaped up to greet him, placing his paws on Ian’s hip, while and the squat one - a corgi, Ian was pretty sure- continued to yip up at him at a distracting volume.

Anyone else may have considered the commotion to be an annoyance, but Ian loved dogs, and he was used to noise. He had often begged Fiona for a dog when he was little, until the unfortunate reality of their poverty came crashing in on him and he accepted at the ripe old age of six that a pet was not in the cards for the Gallagher family. Even still, Ian’s most recent ex-boyfriend had own a Pug, and Ian loved to spoil it, despite how fucking ugly everyone thought it was. 

Ian bent at the waist slightly and gave each pooch a quick scratch behind their ear, letting a genuine smile replace his placating one. 

“Well look what we have here!” Ian cooed at them, watching both of them wag their tails happily, which made it easier for him to momentarily forget about his audience. “You guys are fuckin’ adorable, aren’t you!” 

Patiently, Mickey stood back and let Ian have his moment with the dogs, watching him with soft eyes as he crossed his arms over his chest. 

“The big guy’s Baxter,” Mickey explained, unable to stifle a smile of his own, “And the, uh… the little one’s… Mimsy.” Mickey hated the dog's name with a passion, but anyone who had met Clyde even once would not be surprised that he had named the poor little fucker something so dainty. 

“ _Mimsy_ , huh?” Ian commented with a quirk of his eyebrow, which Mickey decided was meant to taunt him. 

“Trust me, I didn’t fuckin’ name her,” Mickey watched Ian straighten up. Ian tried not to make it too obvious that he was rubbernecking - eyes wildly surveying the large open concept kitchen, complete high vault ceilings and shiny chrome appliances. 

Mickey knew he should have probably felt superior in that moment, showcasing the expensive things he was able to afford as _Mr. Miller._ Things that Mickey _Milkovich_ couldn’t even afford to _look_ at, let alone own. And yet, he found himself feeling almost ashamed as Ian took in his surrounding, which made exactly no fucking sense and left Mickey stewing in frustration. 

Ian followed behind as Mickey led him to the spacious marble topped island, the dogs trailing behind him. Mickey busied himself by getting two glasses down from one of the ornate wooden cupboards and placed them down on the island, before yanking open the fridge and grabbing the pitcher of sweet tea. He cast a glance at the redhead as he set the pitcher beside the glasses, and immediately felt his face heat up when he realized Ian was looking back at him, unflinching.

It was one thing fantasizing about asking Ian inside, but now that the man was actually standing there in his kitchen, looking for all the world like he was chiseled out of marble, Mickey couldn’t help but wonder what the fuck had gotten into him. 

“You want ice?” Mickey spat out, trying hard to keep his thoughts from spiraling out of control. He gripped both of the glasses and motioned to the fridge, specifically to the ice-maker nestled in the fridge door. 

“Yeah, sure.” Ian nodded, a little too rapidly, as if it would help him shake the Mickey shaped fog out of his head. Although he had only met Mickey earlier that day, Ian could sense a definite shift in the atmosphere surrounding the man. There was a sort of apprehensive aura and Ian found it odd, juxtaposed to the cockiness Mickey had displayed only hours before. 

_Why?_ Ian mused. _What does he want from me?_ The possibilities were both dangerous and darkly enticing. After all, Mickey didn’t exactly strike him as the kind of guy to invite just anybody in for sweet tea. 

Ian studied Mickey intently as he turned towards the enormous fridge, as if the answers to the mystery would appear the harder Ian concentrated. His eyes drifted lazily from Mickey’s broad shoulders to the inward bow of his spine, eventually venturing downward into forbidden territory. Ian appreciated a nice ass as much as the next guy, and the way the jean material hugged the curve of Mickey’s ass was nothing short of sinful. However. something about his current situation made stealing a peak at Mickey’s rear seem uniquely treacherous. Perhaps it was the little piece of hardware, wrapped vice-like around Mickey’s finger- a signal to others that they could look but not touch. 

Ian could practically feel his hand twitching by his side. He wanted to touch. And that was the problem.

He was only able to tear his eyes away from Mickey when he felt the movement on the ground, by his ankles. Somehow, Mimsy had managed to wedge her squat body between Ian’s shins and the base of the island. She waddled across his shoes, clearly trying to make her presence known. Baxter was not far behind, nipping at the stubby ball of fluff that was Mimsy’s tail and whimpering, clearly upset that she had garnered more of Ian’s attention. 

On a whim, Ian reached down to pick her up, stopping on the way to the ground to pat Baxter’s head, as if to reassure him that he was not forgotten. Ian chuckled as he gathered the diminutive dog up in his arms, realizing for the first time that she was literally _clothed_ in a maroon cable-knit doggie [sweater](https://ibb.co/jHRDRPW). Fucking _rich people_. 

“You know it’s really warm out, right?” Ian asked offhandedly, as Mimsy pliantly allowed him to cradle her like the worlds furriest infant.

“No shit, I’ve only been sweating balls all damn day...” Mickey mumbled, his back to Ian as he pressed one glass under the dispenser, and then the other. The sharp clinking of the ice cubes tumbling into the glass only served to aggravate his already frayed nerves. 

_Why am I freaking the fuck out over this? It’s not like I’m gonna trip and accidentally land on his dick_ , Mickey rationalized. 

When Mickey turned back to face the island, he snickered despite himself. He had not been expecting to see Ian cradling his corgi like a goddamn baby, but there was something so endearing about it that it made Mickey’s stomach knot up. That. That right there was the problem, no matter how he tried to rationalize it. This ginger bastard clearly had some sort of cosmic hold on him; an attraction that seemed to defy Mickey’s common sense. 

It took Mickey several sustained seconds to realize that Ian’s comment about the heat had clearly been referring to the dumb little sweater Mimsy was wearing. 

“Oh, the sweater? Yeah don’t even ask me, man. Clyde likes to put those little fuckin sweaters on ‘er all year round. She’s gettin’ pretty old so I guess she, uh… _gets cold_?” Mickey attempted to sound casual as he picked up the pitcher and carefully poured the sweet tea into one of the glasses. He reached across the island, sliding the glass the last few inches towards Ian. “I swear to God, that mutt’s wardrobe takes up more space in my closet than everything I own. She seems to be okay with it though, doesn’t she?” Mickey gestured to the dog, who looked happy as anything curled up in Ian’s arms, tongue lolled out of her head. Mimsy let out a little yip in response, as if to confirm what Mickey had claimed. 

Ian smiled down at her and gave her belly a rub. “Not the first time I’ve seen a dog in a sweater. They’re usually not brand-name though…” Ian grimaced upon noticing the _Ralph Lauren_ logo stitched into the cable knit sweater. Gingerly, he stopped to let Mimsy leap out of his arms and reached for his now full glass - unable to keep himself from contemplating the fact that the one item of doggie clothing most likely cost more than he would make cleaning pools for an entire week.

“Thanks for this.” Ian said, tipping the glass in Mickey’s direction as a salute before bringing the glass to his lips to take a sip. He watched out of the corner of his eyes as Mickey nodded and did the same, tilting his head back ever so slightly, unintentionally giving Ian a perfect view of his neck - a pristine column of alabaster skin that looked as if it would bruise if Ian stared at it for too long. He was hardly able to pay attention to how refreshing the sweet tea was, as the only thought he seemed to be able to produce involved sucking perfect rosebud hickeys onto that neck. Fuck, Ian needed a smoke, and _bad._

Averting his gaze, Ian chose to focus on Mickey’s hand gripping the glass in order to avoid accidentally making awkward eye contact with his host, especially in the wake of such dirty daydreams. The faint outline of letters were the first things he noticed. Faded tattoos adorned each of Mickey’s knuckles, the lines so washed out that Ian couldn’t make out what the letters spelled, although he tried for what felt like ages. He realized then that he had most definitely been staring for too long when, in his periphery, he noticed Mickey’s eyes snap towards him. Ian had already downed three quarters of the sweet tea in a single extended sip, leaving mostly ice at the bottom of the glass.

Pulling the glass away from his mouth, Ian let out an exaggerated exhale. He fabricated some small talk, jauntily bypassing that he had once again been caught staring. “I’m gonna need to start carrying around a fucking gallon of water again starting tomorrow. My throat got _ridiculously dry_ while I was working out there.” 

Mickey gave a soft grunt in acknowledgment of the statement, but the words were lost on him. He was fighting a losing battle, mesmerized by those lips - those pink fuckin’ lips - and how they looked, now shiny with moisture. Sipping at the sweet tea in his own glass, Mickey made the conscious effort to ease the tension from his grip. It did not help in the slightest that Ian seemed to be _examining_ him now, even as he was attempting to make conversation. Those goddamn eyes were trained on him with an almost unsettling intensity. Scratch that. Very fucking unsettling. 

And it wasn’t exactly the lusty type of look from before, although Mickey thought he may have caught a glimpse of that as well - no this was like being picked apart. Mickey felt as though he was on an operating table, being systematically dissected. What the hell was going through this jokers head? After about the fifth time Mickey hazarded a glance in the man’s direction only to find that he was once again being watched, he felt something snap inside of him. He slammed his glass down far too hard on the countertop of the island, and the resulting noise seemed to startle both of them. 

“The _fuck_ are you starin’ at me for, huh?” Mickey snarled. Mimsy and Baxter, who had long since settled down the dog beds nestled under the bay windows, both perked up at the noise. 

Similarly, Ian flinched at the sharp sound of glass against marble, and immediately wanted the earth’s crust to open up and swallow him whole. “Ah, fuck. Sorry! I was just...” He began, but ended up trailing off into nothingness because - well, he was caught red handed, wasn’t he? 

“Just what?” Mickey prompted after an uncomfortable pause. It was at times like this Mickey sincerely wished he knew how to leave well enough alone. He had never quite gotten the hang of not boiling over at the slightest provocation. 

Red-faced and embarrassed, Ian carefully set down his glass beside Mickey’s and desperately clung to the one line of thought that didn’t involve something pornographic. 

“Look man, I just gotta ask. Are you from the Southside? Because the way you act… doesn't really fit all _this_.” Ian accompanied the statement with a sweeping gesture around the kitchen, which happened to be almost as large as his entire apartment. “Doesn’t seem to me like you were born and raised here is all…” It was ballsy of him to say, maybe. But it was infinitely more appropriate than voicing any of his other, R-rated thoughts. 

Mickey could feel his pupils dilating in his eye sockets, and all at once he felt like a little kid, being caught with his metaphorical hand in the metaphorical cookie jar. If Mickey was really being transparent, it had been six long years of feeling just like that. Like an imposter. Like he was taking shit he wasn’t entitled to. It was ironic, considering how when he was growing up, the only way to scrape by without being left behind in the shuffle was to take shit that didn’t belong to him. 

Mickey had spent the entirety of his marriage trying to convince himself that this was actually his. That he had love, and a future, and that he deserved it. He fucking _deserved_ a little bit of goddamn happiness, after everything. Somedays, he almost believed it. Mostly Mickey thought he was fooling himself.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your fuckin’ business,” Mickey sneered, feeling humiliated. When Ian regarded him again, those green eyes like saucers in his skull, Mickey felt his resolve falter. “Yeah. Yeah I’m Southside. Canaryville. Trumbull Avenue. But that has _fuck all_ to do with where I am now.” Mickey leaned against the counter, trying and failing to give off the impression that he was undaunted by Ian’s clearly judgemental inflection. 

“Holy shit, _Trumbull_?” Ian smiled upon the mention of Canaryville, in spite of Mickey’s hostility. “I grew up on North Wallace, like two streets over. Family still lives there.” Ian used to cross Trumbull Avenue every day on his way home from school. How had he never run into Mickey before? 

Mickey blinked slowly at the unexpectedly pleasant tone of the reply. Perhaps Mickey was amping up his naturally aggressive personality just a bit, as a way of warding off potential advances from the redhead, but he was surprised by how quickly Ian had bounced back from his outburst and moved on like it was nothing. Even still, Mickey took a minute to silently marvel that he had been living a few blocks down from Ian for most of his life and he’d never come across him before. Not that he knew of at any rate. 

“You really moved up in the world, huh?” Ian huffed a laugh and shook his head as he looked down at the marble floor under his dirt stained shoes. He knew he should have stopped talking, but he couldn’t help but add, “Married rich and got the fuck out of that hellhole.” The condescension dripping from his words was enough to drive Mickey up the fucking wall. 

“Yeah well, ya know. _True love_ and all that shit.” Mickey shrugged, despising how utterly unconvincing he sounded. “When someone gives you a shot, you gotta take it. Me and my sister were the only ones with enough brain cells to understand that. Guess Mandy and I didn’t think being dirt poor was anything to be fuckin’ proud of.” There he went again, giving away more personal information than he intended to. Mickey had the sneaking suspicion that he was teetering on the edge of something dangerous. 

Ian was very obviously caught off guard by the mention of the name. All at once the circuitry in his brain sparked and connected, and several important facts fell into place. 

“Mandy? As in Mandy _Milkovich_?!” Ian exclaimed, looking at Mickey up and down, because of course he remembered Mandy - she had made herself impossible to forget. 

Mickey blanched slightly, knitting his eyebrows together. Shit. There it was. The _danger_. Everything inside of him screamed to deny it - to thank Ian for his service and send him on his way. But something also told him that Ian wouldn’t be dissuaded that easily. “Uh. Yeah…” Mickey eventually muttered. 

“You’re a _Milkovich_?” Ian lowered his gaze, playing with the glass between his fingers. The ice was mostly melted now, leaving only watered down dregs of sweet tea at the bottom. When he finally looked back up at Mickey, the smirk on his face made Mickey want to bash it in and kiss it off all at the same time. “Makes a lot of sense actually. You look just like her.” 

“I take that as a fuckin insult,” Mickey huffed, snatching his glass back up from the counter and taking a lengthy drink, trying to calm his pounding heart. It was one thing having the hot pool boy in his expensive ass house as the doting husband of one of the Northside’s most sought after dentists. It was entirely a different thing to have a _fellow Southsider,_ standing there, eyeing him up, judging him. _Knowing_ who he really was. A goddamn _Milkovich_. 

Mickey heard the familiar sound of Baxter padding over to him and upon feeling the dog circling his legs, Mickey instinctively reached down to pet him. When he had his fill of affection, Baxter wandered away from the island and back over to where he had been laying in a beam of afternoon sun with Mimsy, leaving Mickey to flounder alone. 

Mickey noticed that Ian had all but drained his glass. He knew he should have taken it as a sign that the strange interaction was at a natural end. And yet, Mickey lifted up the pitcher and waved it in Ian’s direction, hoping to change the uncomfortable subject. “You want more?” 

Without giving it much forethought, Ian found himself slipping around to the other side of the island, bringing the glass along with him. _So it’s easier for him to pour me another glass_ , Ian outright lied to himself. Confirming that Mickey did in fact hail from the same part of the city as he did made Ian feel both more at ease, and more puzzled about how Mickey could have so easily abandoned his home to side with the gentrifying Northside elite. He couldn’t quite explain the frustration, but it was definitely there, and it made Ian want to shake some sense into Mickey.

“Yeah, thanks.” Ian inched closer to Mickey, until he came to a halt about a foot away, near enough to Mickey to notice his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. “I haven’t had sweet tea in ages. It’s delicious.”

“Alice makes it homemade. Steeps the leaves herself, adds _organic_ honey, all that shit,” Mickey rambled, trying to ignore the pulse thumping in his fingertips, like he was about to have a damn heart attack. Watching Ian draw closer, Mickey could only feel panic, followed closely by unwelcomed desire. 

_What is he doing?_ Mickey wondered frantically, knowing he should want to inch further away, and put more space between them. When Ian slid the glass forward on the counter for Mickey to pour him more sweet tea, the former thug tried to quell the shaking of his hand in order to heft the pitcher into the right position to pour. 

Once he was finished pouring, Mickey naturally assumed that Ian would back off - he was wrong. Ian somehow felt even closer. Those eyes were roving over him again, and Mickey knew it. He fucking _knew_ he wasn’t imaging it. This man was clearly sizing him up. Any question of whether or not Ian was gay flew headlong out the window. Ian was _gay_ , and - Jesus _Christ -_ he might just make a fucking move. Mickey felt utterly frozen in time and space. 

“You… you’re starin’ again…” Mickey shot his tongue out to wet his horrendously dry lips. 

“Look, I can’t help that you’re fuckin’ _hot_ , okay?” Ian couldn’t believe the words actually left his mouth, but now that they had, he knew that he had no choice but to commit to them and shoot his shot. “I… like what I’m lookin’ at...” As if magnetically, Ian was being pulled forward, millimeter by millimeter, throwing common sense out the window along with his pride. 

Mickey couldn’t seem to fucking breathe. Ian was drawing closer by the second and all the red lights and sirens were going off, warning Mickey of the perilous situation he was in. Ian was going to try and kiss him - this was becoming abundantly apparent. Mickey barely had the good sense to set the pitcher down on the island before he could accidentally drop it and let it shatter. Ian was only inches away now, his hand rising up into the air as if aiming to cradle the back of Mickey’s head, and everything was blurring around him. 

“The _fuck_ are you-“ Mickey’s protest caught halfway in his throat and his autopilot took over. Unconsciously, he balled up his hand into a fist and raised it, hauling back and letting it swing forward with all his might. 

Ian’s quick reflexes kicked in just in time, seizing Mickey’s wrist mid air and slowing his fist before the punch could land. 

“The _fuck_ are _you_ doing, Mickey?” Ian countered, calling Mickey’s bluff. “You can’t tell me there isn’t something happening here. This weird thing that’s going on between us.” He motioned between their chests with his free hand. Ian didn’t have the vocabulary to explain what he felt, but he couldn’t shake the impression that Mickey felt it too. 

Mickey gritted his teeth at the challenge and tried to process the rapid turn of events. This was _insane_. One bad decision after another had led him to be in this position; caged in between the island and Ian, with the redhead’s strong fingers wrapped firmly around his wrist, holding his arm up between them. Mickey’s wild eyes shifted desperately between the wedding band that adorned his finger and the gorgeous freckled face that was far too close to his own. He knew there was a decision to be made, and no time to make it. 

It was obvious what the correct course of action was - remind this bastard he was a married man, and kick his sorry ass to the curb. But as traitorous as he knew it was; Mickey also knew Ian was painfully right. There _was_ something there. And it was highly possible that Mickey would regret not going for it while he had the opportunity. 

“ _Shit_ -“ Mickey huffed, and wiggled his arm free from Ian’s grip. His fist unraveled, and those same fingers were suddenly snaking around the back of the redhead’s neck, jerking him down as Mickey roughly mashed his lips into Ian’s. Mickey could feel Ian’s body tense against him for a moment, before he melted like butter and began eagerly accepting Mickey’s scorching kiss. 

Truthfully, Ian was initially caught off guard by the intensity of Mickey’s kiss, but once he had regained his composure as much as possible given the situation, Ian expertly matched the ferocity blow by blow. Sliding his hands down to rest on Mickey’s hips, Ian hummed as he felt Mickey’s fingers creeping upward, weaving into his hair. When Mickey’s lips abruptly broke away from his own, Ian sucked in a worried half-breath and screwed his eyes shut, certain that the blissful moment in fantasyland was over and done with, but unwilling to face the music.

To his eternal surprise, in the next moment, Ian felt Mickey’s lips pressed against his once again. The act was performed much more delicately this time and then they were gone again. It slowly dawned on Ian that Mickey was pulling back and replacing them again and again, each touch drawn out and savored like a good meal. Ian instinctually pressed further into Mickey as they let their lips meet over and over, both men caught up in a heady trance.

Mickey felt like a full-on _preteen_ , getting so amped by _kissing,_ of all things _._ He had never been much of a kisser, and so he couldn’t quite wrap his head around how unbelievable it felt to simply bask in Ian’s warmth and let everything else go. The weight of their lips pressing together felt exhilarating yet soft at the same time. 

Nevertheless, when Mickey felt just a sliver of Ian’s tongue slide against his bottom lip, the snap-back to the reality of what they were doing was jarring as all _hell_. Mickey flattened both palms against Ian’s sturdy chest and shoved. Their lips disconnected with a smack that seemed to echo throughout the expansive kitchen.

“No-“ Mickey gasped, scrambling for control, “ _fuck_ no, this can’t happen! I’m- I’m married, man.” It was an extremely feeble attempt to halt a runaway train. Ian was far too drunk on exhilaration to be sensible, and Mickey’s protests were falling on deaf ears. Stepping forward, Ian boxed Mickey in against the counter entirely. 

“Stop.” Ian whispered breathily as he bent forward just enough to bring his lips close to Mickey’s face, gliding them tenderly against the apple of the gorgeous man’s cheek. Ian was past thinking about the actuality of what he was doing, lowering his voice enticingly- all he could do was plead with Mickey to follow suit. Ian hardly knew what had gotten into him, but he was nonetheless desperate to recapture the moment. 

There was something about the cadence of Ian’s voice that had Mickey - a man who took commands from nobody - weak at the knees. Mickey was under no false pretenses- Ian was well aware that he had a husband, considering that Mickey had made it clear repeatedly throughout the day. The thing was, Mickey had _kissed_ him. And Ian had kissed back. Now they both knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the other man didn’t give a shit about Mickey’s marital status when it came down to it, as much as Mickey was making a valiant effort. 

_Stop_ , Ian had said. And Mickey didn’t need a translator to figure out what the word meant. _Stop_ pretending. _Stop_ making lame ass excuses. _Stop_ holding back. Mickey closed his eyes and let his head spin as the redhead’s suffocatingly warm breath fanned over his face. And he waited. Because if their lips made contact again, Mickey knew he would be powerless to resist it. 

Gently, Ian slipped his fingers up under Mickey’s chin, tilting his face upward, pleased to face no resistance. Mickey was only able to take one more breath before Ian claimed his mouth once more, unable to hold back any longer. Ian had decided on a whim to take things as far as Mickey would let him, and once Mickey’s eyes fluttered shut and his lips parted to allow Ian’s tongue to push it’s way in, there was no doubt that Mickey wanted it just as badly. 

A low groan emanated from deep within Mickey’s chest as his lips were roughly parted by Ian’s tongue. He quickly got the message and opened wide, permitting Ian’s tongue to coax his own out to play. Mickey was in no shape to disobey, and so when Ian’s tongue retreated, Mickey gave chase and laved into Ian’s warm mouth. Instinctively, he curled his fingers around the fabric of Ian’s t-shirt, dragging him as close as possible. The kissing had ramped up from chaste and closed mouthed, to something that was desperate and needy. 

Ian’s pelvis pressed forward without warning, sliding their undeniable bulges together, and Mickey very nearly bit down on Ian’s tongue. He hadn’t had the space available in his brain to register that he was becoming stiff in his jean shorts until Ian’s own hardness brushed against his.

Mickey reared backward, just enough to gasp into Ian’s open mouth. When his eyes opened, Ian’s were locked onto his fucking soul, with a glint that felt like it could have set him aflame.

“Ian-“ Mickey panted. He didn’t know why, but he just felt the urge to say the man’s name out loud, like a final warning. 

“Tell me to go…” Ian mumbled against his lips, before tilting his head to the side and finally placing sucking kisses on the pale flesh of Mickey neck. Mickey found himself tipping his head backwards, providing Ian with more surface area to work with. “Come on. Tell me goodbye...” He whispered breathlessly against Mickey’s skin, with the full awareness that if he left then and there, he would never return. 

Mickey moaned as Ian’s words embedded themselves in his skin. Pushing his luck, Ian trailed his fingers in a line down Mickey’s chest, until his hand slid between their crotches, cupping Mickey’s clothed erection and rubbing his thumb over it before daring to make eye contact with Mickey again. 

Mickey wanted to glare, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He seriously needed the next words to come out of his mouth to be, _‘okay then. Bye_ ’. Mickey opened his mouth, intent on saying just that, but the only sound to drop from his lips was another husky moan as Ian cupped his large hand around his cock. Gritting his teeth to put an end to the involuntary noises Ian was pulling out of him with every squeeze and swipe, Mickey bucked forward, only serving to grind further into his hand.

“ _Fuuuck_ …” Mickey hissed outbetween clenched teeth. 

“ _Mickey_ ,” Ian gasped at the friction of Mickey’s thigh against his crotch, and in his own ears his voice sounded foreign and raw. “ _Please,_ Mickey… Wanna suck you off.” 

Mickey wanted that. He wanted so badly to feel the inside of Ian’s hot, wet mouth constricting around him and have those massive hands groping and cradling his ass as he was being swallowed down within an inch of his life. In fact, in that potent moment of arousal, while Ian made his proposition, it was definitely bordering on a _need_. 

He hated admitting it, even to himself, but Mickey knew hia sex life with Clyde had been on a steady decline for a few years now. It was nothing like it had been - and no time since had amounted to the thrill of that first fuck. At the time, something about the risk of it all had lit Mickey up like a firecracker. He had never felt so _desirable._ Whether it was the fact that he had turned an almost-arrest into a dirty pounding, or how Clyde had looked at him, it felt like he was fucking _magic_. 

Mickey hadn’t gotten that look from his husband in… it had been a long time. Of course, Mickey wasn’t naive enough to think that the initial fire of the relationship would stay forever, but even so - it was hard to not want that shit back when you were given a taste of it. 

But right here, right now, Mickey was _feeling_ it. That danger. That desire. The way Ian was undressing him with his eyes, pleading with him; Mickey felt like fucking _magic_ again. 

“So... _do it_ ,” Mickey finally puffed out. He want- needed - to hold on to that feeling at all cost.

Ian pressed his lips against Mickey’s in a chaste kiss, unable to control his excitement, before running both hands up under the hem of Mickey’s t-shirt. He made a point of dragging his blunt nails against Mickey’s firm stomach, feeling for each dip and swell. At a leisurely pace, Ian sank down to his knees on the hardwood floors. His gaze dropped to Mickey’s prominent hard-on, which now met him at eye level, looking unpleasantly squashed against the jean material.

Every movement felt dreamlike as Ian rolled the bottom of Mickey’s t-shirt upward and leaned in to nip and kiss at Mickey’s soft stomach while he deftly unbuttoned Mickey’s pants with one hand. Once the zipper was undone, the shorts practically dropped of their own accord, bunching around Mickey’s ankles.

Ian let his lips travel downward until he was mouthing over the tip of Mickey’s cock through the fabric of his boxers; _Armani_ , as it happened. Upon registering an unmistakable patch of wetness against his tongue, Ian lazily grazed over Mickey’s tip, his eyes practically rolled back into a different dimension as his own cock felt impossibly trapped. So much so that Ian was practically forced to reach down and readjust himself, sneaking in a few self-gratifying stokes for good measure. 

Mickey too, was beside himself. He quaked all over, and his fingers were busy tangling themselves up in the lengthier copper locks on top of Ian’s head, which were slightly damp with sweat. His chin dropped to his chest and he inhaled sharply through his nose as Ian continued to tease the tip of his cock through the fabric. The racing thoughts Mickey had been experiencing only seconds before were nowhere to be found. 

Mickey curled his toes into the wooden flooring when Ian began to tug his boxers down, far too slowly for his liking, a quarter of an inch at a time until only the elastic band of his boxers was holding his cock back from springing free. Mickey didn’t want to beg- he had the feeling the redhead would get far too much smug satisfaction from it. But his cock was throbbing below the fabric and Mickey was seconds away from ripping the boxers off himself. Instead, Mickey tightened his fist in Ian’s hair and pulled his face forward, as tactfully as he could manage, hoping Ian would get the message and hurry the _fuck_ up. 

Ian read him loud and clear. Urgently, he ripped away Mickey’s boxers, marvelling as Mickey’s cock sprang upward with a considerable amount of force. Ian gave it no time to settle, grasping the base and flattening his tongue against the slit before wrapping his lips around the head of Mickey’s cock and allowing his tongue to roam. 

Mickey was pushing his chin down into his chest so hard it started to fucking hurt, but it was the only way he could deal with the reality of what was happening. He didn’t want to chance closing his eyes and having Ian disappear on him; it was just his brand of shitty luck that this unbelievably attractive man would be a figment of his imagination. But Ian sure as hell _felt_ real, and Mickey muttered a litany of curses into his chest as his cock slid down Ian’s throat inch by glorious inch. 

The redhead was apparently no stranger to sucking dick, which was made all too apparent by the way Ian swallowed Mickey’s cock down. Mickey couldn’t tear himself away from the sight of Ian’s jaw wrenched open around him, made all the more sinful by the way Ian’s gaze was locked with his, as if daring Mickey to make a sound. 

“Oh my fuckin’ _god_ …” Mickey blurted as Ian pulled back without warning, all the way back to the tip before bobbing his head down repeatedly, setting an ever quickening pace. All Mickey could do was hold on for dear life, digging the short nails of his unoccupied hand under the lip of the countertop to the point where he thought his finger tips might start to bleed. Fortunately, the more he tugged at Ian’s curls the more Ian seemed to respond, growling gutturally around Mickey’s cock, which caused Mickey to lean back and clamp his eyes shut. 

All the while, only one cohernt thought was swimming around in Mickey’s addled mind, and it was stuck on repeat; _this is hot, this is hot, this is so fucking-_

In retrospect, it was a dumbass move. Getting blown by a veritable stranger out in the open, in the middle of your kitchen with no idea of when your _husband_ would be returning home, was really kind of asking to be caught. 

The sound of the lock on the front doors catching was amplified throughout the obnoxiously spacious home, like the warning bells of the apocalypse, and Mickey’s gut almost dropped out of him. Eyes springing open, he reacted much faster than Ian, who was far too in the zone to hear a sound so inconspicuous. It was Mickey’s home after all, and he could clock the sound of the front door opening from miles away. 

Mickey ripped his fingers from Ian’s hair and planted one hand on each shoulder, pushing the man off of him. Ian disconnected from Mickey with a dramatic pop. 

Ian lurched backward in shock, one arm lunging out to break his fall as he tumbled back on his ass. “What the f-“ he was immediately cut off by Mickey’s wide eyed panic. 

“ _Shhhh_ ! Shut the fuck up! He’s _here_ , dipshit!” Mickey hushed Ian as he frantically, yanking up his boxers and shorts from around his ankles, zipping and rebuttoning them as fast as his clumsy fingers could. 

“I’m hoooooooome!” Clyde’s voice was bouncing around the high walls and ceiling of the main foyer, where he was no doubt removing his shoes and setting his bag down, oblivious to the situation unfolding on the opposite end of the house. “Mickey! My god, have I got a story for you today… Where are you? ” 

Ian scrambled up off of the floor, and rushed to make himself presentable. He took long strides around the island, picking his glass up and transporting it to the opposite side. His aim was to put as much physical distance between himself and Mickey as possible without the situation appearing too unnecessarily suspicious. Unfortunately, from previous experience, Ian knew that he had no time to run, but he shimmied a few inches closer to his intended getaway route, just to be safe. 

“Kitchen!” Mickey called out, evening his voice and praying he didn’t sound as shaky as he felt. His heart was pounding on the walls of his goddamn chest, and he had to brace himself against the island as the adrenaline coursed through his veins like a tidal wave.

In a flurry, Mimsy and Baxter lept up from their respective beds and rushed through the kitchen and around the corner as Clyde’s shadow neared. Mickey winced as he heard them collide with his husband, and Clyde’s chipper laughter sounded out as he took time to greet his mutts. 

Mickey shot a baleful glance in Ian’s direction; where Ian seemed frozen in place.

And Mickey wondered, briefly, if Ian felt as _alive_ as he did. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All we can say is... uh oh 😧 Comments and kudos are appreciated! ❤️ Thanks for reading!


	4. Very pleased to meet you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We wanna start off by thanking everyone for their support and kind comments!
> 
> We've decided to post a new chapter every Sunday until the work is complete! Keep an eye out for those! 😉
> 
>   
> Feel free to hit us up on insta, twitter, or tumblr to ask questions or let us know what you think! ❤️
> 
> Jinlin5- insta: @gallavich_doodles; tumblr: @doodlevich  
> camnoelgallavich- insta: @cam.monaghanfan; Twitter: @cam_monaghanfan

In no time, Clyde had successfully navigated the hurdle of his overly excited dogs and stepped around the corner into the kitchen. Ian could see that the man was clearly under the false impression that he was alone with his husband, as he was talking openly to Mickey as he entered the room. 

“Dear lord, do I have a story to tell you! First of all, you must remember when I told you that the Caldwell’s had me make a house call for their daughter? She’s nearly eight years old now and she definitely has some loose teeth, but none of them have-” Clyde stopped mid-sentence the moment he caught sight of Ian. 

Clyde stared for a moment in confusion, his eyebrows drawn together and his lips set in an emotionless line amidst his well groomed salt and pepper beard, taking stock of the situation. He glanced between his husband and Ian, and just as Ian was gearing himself up to make a run for it, a polite smile spread across the older man’s face.

“Why hello there! You must be the new poolboy!” Clyde greeted amicably. He pushed his wire rimmed glasses back from the bridge of his nose and held an arm out towards Mickey, without so much as breaking eye contact with Ian. Ian felt a stone drop in his gut as he watched Mickey push away from the island and saunter over to meet Clyde where he stood, allowing the man- his _husband-_ to loop the arm around his waist. “Mickey, my dear, you should have let me know he was working so late into the day, we could have arranged for Alice to fix him something to eat!”

“ _Someone_ doesn’t answer their texts,” Mickey groused in a playful tone. Ian wanted to fuckin gag, especially when he watched Mickey stretch up and place a peck on Clyde’s whiskered cheek- as if his lips hadn’t just been all over Ian’s not ten minutes earlier. In fairness, Ian knew that Mickey’s heart was probably pounding in his chest, and he most likely felt the need to overcompensate considering _everything_ , but the whole thing sickened him nonetheless. 

“I’ll never get used to that damn thing, as long as I live,” Clyde chuckled and leaned in to the kiss, patting the pocket of his dress pants to indicate that he was referring to his phone. His dark eyes came to rest upon Ian once more. “What’s your name again, son?”

“Ian, sir.” Ian couldn’t believe what a monumental suck-up he sounded like. For the briefest moment he caught Mickey’s gaze. Ian felt his face heat up in frustration at the way the brawny, mouthy bad-ass seemed to shrivel into himself and go running to Clyde the moment he entered the room, much the same way the dogs came when they were beckoned. 

“Very pleased to meet you, Ian. I’m Dr. Miller, as you’ve most likely guessed,” Clyde let go of Mickey’s waist in order to take a few steps forward and extend his hand towards Ian. Ian took it swiftly and shook it firmly, perhaps adding a tad more pressure than he normally would have. 

Ian had to admit, Clyde wasn’t difficult to look at by any stretch of the imagination. He appeared to be in his mid-fifties, although it was hard to pinpoint his age exactly considering that he resembled a retired J Crew model. He _looked_ successful - like a person who was handed everything they could ever want and then some, from the time they could toddle. 

Before Ian could conjure up some sort of backhanded response, Mickey jumped into the fray. “He was out back workin’ in the hot sun all day, and I figured he could use a drink to cool down before taking off. Alice made some of that sweet tea we like.” Mickey pointed out the pitcher still resting on the counter, coming across a little too eager to explain away why there was a strange man standing in Clyde’s kitchen for seemingly no reason. 

If Mickey’s actions were suspicious, Clyde certainly didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he tightened his grip on Ian’s hand one last time before dropping it and patting his husband on the back.

“Well that was very kind of you, love.” Clyde cooed, and Ian stared blankly between the two men as they interacted. He wondered how the hell Clyde got away with calling Mickey cutesy pet names without being told to fuck off and die. Annoyingly, Mickey’s too-wide smile didn’t waver once, and Ian was reminded all over again why he had decided a while ago that he couldn’t fucking _stand_ relationships. 

The happy facade Mickey was working hard to present to Clyde was just that- a facade. It _had_ to be, for Mickey to even consider allowing Ian to deepthroat his dick in the home he shared with his husband. _Couples lie to each other like it’s nothing_ , Ian thought bitterly. 

When Ian tuned back into reality, Clyde was talking _at_ him. “I’m actually glad I caught you before you left, Ian. We’ll be seeing you several times over the next few weeks, won’t we? I should be able to put a name to your face.”

In all of the chaos, Ian had nearly forgotten that he was at the Miller’s as part of the hired help. He cleared his throat, shoving aside all incoming thoughts about Mickey as he tried his best to focus on conversing with Clyde. He just needed to make it out alive, and get the fuck home, where he could process recent events without Mickey’s stunning blue eyes staring him down over his husband’s shoulder. 

“Absolutely. It’s a beautiful pool Dr. Miller, but it needs regular maintenance if you want it up and running all summer.” Ian shrugged, pretending that Clyde was just any other client. “If you’re interested, I can give you a quick run down of the chemicals I added to the water.” He suggested, banking on the fact that Clyde would give exactly zero shits about the chemicals that went into cleaning a pool. 

Clyde threw his head back and barked out a wry laugh, which only served to piss Ian off further. “Oh, I wouldn’t bother with all that, my friend. It’s not as if I’d understand a single thing you were saying, anyway. That’s why we needed a _poolboy_ to begin with. I’m useless when it comes to all that technical nonsense, and _this one_ -” Clyde nodded towards Mickey, who had gravitated back towards his glass of iced tea, desperate to give himself something to do, “-he’s hardly even _looked_ at the pool, let alone used it. All of your _services_ are very much appreciated.” 

It was an unfortunate choice of words, to be sure. Mickey almost choked on the mouthful of iced tea he had been in the midst of sipping. He managed to swallow and breathe deeply through his nose, narrowly avoiding spewing the contents of his mouth all over the island. If he hadn’t known better, Mickey would have sworn Clyde knew exactly what had been going on between them before he had arrived home.

“Glad to hear,” Ian’s voice was oversaturated with forced pleasantness as he decided it was finally time to take his leave from the uneasy situation. “Well, I better head out then!” 

Ian stepped towards the island to set the near empty glass down on the marble countertop, unintentionally making eye contact with Mickey despite his efforts to avoid it. He could have sworn the sight of those piercing irises made the corners of his vision go fuzzy once again. Or maybe it was all in his head. Either way it was time to leave, and Ian forced himself to look away and keep moving. 

“Thanks for… the tea.” Ian nodded awkwardly in Mickey’s direction, gaze downcast.

“Let me show you out,” Clyde volunteered diplomatically, moving towards the hallway leading to his study. “I’m assuming you still have to collect your gear.”

The last thing Ian wanted was to have Clyde escort him through the house, but it looked like he didn’t have much of a choice.

“That would be great. Lead the way,” Ian nodded, and followed after the man, refusing to even throw a glance back over his shoulder at Mickey. It was bad enough that Ian could practically _feel_ Mickey watching him leave - along with the weight of the unfinished business he was leaving behind him.

From then on, Ian moved like a goddamn _zombie_ , shambling after Clyde down the hallway, into the study and finally outside onto the veranda. Clyde gave him some sort of magnanimous ‘thank you’ for the last time that evening and waved him off, requesting that Ian ensure the back gate be shut tightly behind him so that the security system would properly activate.

A short while later, during the drive back to his apartment, as Ian squinted against the waning sun shining directly into his eyes, he realized a few things. Firstly, that he didn’t remember packing up the rest of his supplies or loading them into the company issued van, or even peeling away from the curb and screeching out of the Northside suburb like a bat out of hell.

Secondly, Ian came to the disquieting conclusion that no matter what happened from now on in his life, things were going to be divided into two distinct time periods- _before_ and _after_ Mickey.

And it was as _exhilarating_ as it was fucking _terrifying_. 

Unsurprisingly, Mickey’s heart rate didn’t slow down one bit, even once Ian was long gone. He leaned against the counter, trying to fully recover his breathing and get a fucking grip on himself. He was thankful Clyde had offered to show Ian out, leaving Mickey alone with the dogs, who would mercifully refrain from judging him while he ran shaking hands through his hair and attempted to come to terms with how close he had come to fucking literally _everything_ up. Everything. 

Mickey’s mind was absolutely _reeling_ . Clyde - the man whom he’d agreed to entangle his life with legally at the local courthouse almost six years previously - had almost walked straight in on him getting a hummer from the poolboy. It was as close to an out-of-body experience as Mickey had ever had; and, he had been through some pretty fucked up shit. Come to think of it, he had _done_ some pretty fucked up shit. Yet, Mickey felt like this was somehow a new personal low.

By the time Clyde returned to the kitchen, Mickey had pulled himself up by his bootstraps just enough to gulp down the remainder of his sweet tea and was in the act of returning the pitcher back to the fridge. Even as he heard his husband's footsteps approaching, Mickey gave himself a minute to pause with the fridge door open, cooling himself off for the second time that day. He prayed that his face wasn’t as red as it felt, and that even if it was, that Clyde would chalk it up to the heat of the day, which persisted despite the sun beginning to set.

Although Mickey could sense the presence behind him, he couldn’t help but tense up slightly upon feeling a familiar pair of arms snake around his middle. He suppressed his startle the best he could, masking his jitters by closing the fridge door forcefully. Mickey craned his neck slightly to the side, and there he was in all his glory, the smiling face of his husband, resting his chin on Mickey’s shoulder. Clyde pressed into him, his taller stature allowing Mickey to fit neatly against the curve of his chest. The embrace was more like a heavy burden, than a comforting gesture. Mickey realized he didn’t know when he had begun to feel this change, and yet, moments like these that were once soothing had started to feel like being slowly buried alive. 

Mickey stared forward at the fridge as a series of dry kisses were peppered onto his neck, the dense thatch of Clyde’s beard scraping across his skin. His gaze roving over the postcards and cheesy ass magnets that adorned the stainless steel double doors - little proclamations of just how many vacations they’d been on, and just how much of Clyde’s money had been showered on him over the years.

“I let Alice go home early,” Mickey blurted, partly because he knew it would come up anyway, but mostly because he needed to say something to fill the roaring silence, “Figured she’d been here long enough. So we’re gonna have to figure shit out on our own for dinner, I guess.” Mickey immediately noticed that Clyde paused mid-kiss and lifted his head.

“ _Mikhailo…_ ” Clyde had this way of making his full name sound like an insult, and Mickey fucking hated it. “We’ve talked about this. You can’t just let the staff go all Willy-nilly. They have schedules. That I created for them, as you know. They’ll get _lazy_ if we let them, dear.” Mickey rolled his eyes and huffed when Clyde took hold of his sides and turned him around, manhandling him like a fucking doll. Mickey had never let _anybody_ touch him in that way before Clyde, but somehow his husband managed to take liberties with him that others simply couldn’t afford. Mimsy and Baxter were swarming around them, but Clyde’s attention was focused solely on Mickey. 

“Was just tryna do something nice for once. _Jesus…”_ Mickey mumbled, now that he was face to face with Clyde. His entire body was crawling, and he had to blink away the mental image of Ian on his knees, the one that seemed permanently tattooed in his brain. 

“Neither of us make very good cooks either way,” Clyde softened a bit at the dejected look on Mickey’s face, letting out a breathy laugh. “Seems to me like you just wanted an excuse to order-in some of that junk food you love so much, instead of suffering through another one of Alice’s ‘healthy alternatives’.” It was a condescending joke, made all the more insulting as Clyde rubbed at Mickey’s stomach over the t-shirt, as if implying that the soft flesh that adorned Mickey’s middle was a direct result of his fast food proclivity. “Remember when this used to be all muscle, hmm? What happened to _that_?” 

Mickey scowled. Clyde had been doing that shit a lot lately. A little jab here, a little poke there. He used to love the banter, when it was _mutual_. But as it became more frequent, Mickey had begun to think it was deliberate, like Clyde was systematically chipping his way through the tough exterior and trying to get him to crack. 

Before Mickey could conjure up a retort, Clyde swooped low and pecked his lips.“Let’s go out to eat instead, alright?” He released Mickey abruptly, and motioned towards the foyer. “You know I’ve been wanting to go back to The Carlyle for a while now.”

Oh, Mickey knew. His husband had only been going on about the ‘exquisite atmosphere’ and ‘impeccable dining experience’ since they had last visited the high end [gastropub](https://i.ibb.co/W0pVtMN/Messages-Image-3133818515.png) a month and a half ago. On any other evening, Mickey may have resisted, and suggested they go somewhere else - perhaps a place where the waitstaff didn’t seem to all have footlong sticks up their asses. But recent… _events…_ had shaken him to the core and in the interest of his own sanity, Mickey decided playing along was the best solution.

“Yeah sure, I could eat,” Mickey nodded, dropping to his knee to give a few ‘goodbye’ scratches to Baxter and Mimsy before following along behind Clyde out of the kitchen and into the hallway

Once they reached the foyer, Clyde turned and eyed him up and down. “Might be a good idea to change before we go, don’t you think?” 

Mickey looked down at his cut off shorts and t-shirt and snorted. “The fuck for?” He challenged, though he knew it would be a losing battle. 

“You might look out of place is all, love.” Clyde chided, already ushering his husband towards the grand staircase for a wardrobe change. “Put on a nice dress shirt for me, won’t you? Oh and those khakis, you know the ones.” He added, with a sharp smack to Mickey’s ass, which propelled him even more swiftly towards the staircase.

“Meet me in the garage when you’re all finished; I think we’ll take the [ Rolls-Royce ](https://i.ibb.co/qB1SqxV/Rolls-Royce-Ghost.jpg) this time.” Clyde called casually as he flitted out the door, leaving Mickey to breathe out, finally, for the first time since his husband had entered the house and nearly caught him red-handed with his pants _literally_ fucking down. 

Mickey trudged dutifully up the staircase, all the while thinking how goddamn lucky Ian was to be able to flee the scene of their little crime. He decided that despite barely knowing anything about the man, he fucking hated Ian, actually. Mickey hated Ian for his capacity to leave- to just up and walk away from the mess he had helped to create. 

At one point not long ago, in the naivety of his youth, Mickey had assumed that money equated to freedom. It was easy to fantasize about it as a kid- when you grow up dirt poor, in the midst of abuse, getting rich seems like the only viable means of escape. 

Lately, however, Mickey had been feeling more trapped than ever.

Clyde was quick to place a guiding hand on the small of Mickey’s back when they arrived at _The Carlyle_ , and maneuvered him like a puppet as they followed the hostess to Clyde’s table of choice, under the sparkling chandelier that “ _imitated the stars_ ” or some shit. 

They sat in silence once their drink orders had been taken. Mickey watched Clyde over the top of his menu, trying to resist the urge to fidget with the collar of his starched polo. He may have _looked_ the part in the midst of the bustling restaurant, but he felt like a fish out of water, flapping and gasping on dry land, desperate to return to the water.

To make matters that much fucking worse, as much as he tried to busy himself with other things, Mickey’s thoughts were constantly circling back to Ian. That goddamn redhead had really done a number on him and he was left to figure out how the fuck he was going to sit there and eat, across from his husband, without totally being consumed by the memory of Ian’s lips wrapped around his cock.

Clyde wasn’t exactly making it any easier. Every time Mickey glanced up at him, he was staring right back with an unwavering gaze, a barely perceptible smile playing on his lips. If Mickey didn’t know better he could have sworn that Clyde was on to him; there was something about the way he was regarding Mickey that made him feel like a goddamn lab rat, as if Clyde was one step ahead of him. Mickey narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing his husband’s profile when the waitress swooped in with their drinks. 

There was no fucking _way_ Clyde knew what had transpired earlier. No way. He and Ian had been standing about 10 feet apart when Clyde had walked into the kitchen. Sure, Clyde had made the odd statement here and there in the past, but he had never seriously questioned Mickey’s fidelity - after all, Mickey hadn’t given him a reason to. Naturally, it was difficult for Mickey to tell if his paranoia was warranted. 

According to Clyde, they needed a few more minutes with the menu and the waitress was promptly shooed away, even though Mickey was beyond starving. He already knew he was going to order exactly what he had the last time, since it was the only thing on the damn menu he could pronounce. The last thing Mickey needed tonight was for the waitress to stare at him like an idiot while he tried to stumble through some French bullshit. 

Abruptly, Clyde dropped his menu and picked up his glass of Chateau Margaux, swirling the red liquid just enough to coat the inside of the wine glass. “Aren’t you going to ask me how my day was?” He asked before taking a tentative sip. 

Mickey reached for his own glass (rum and coke of course) impressed by how steady his hand was despite the tidal wave of anxiety still rolling around inside of him. “Figured you were going to tell me anyway,” He answered coolly, which elicited a bemused huff from his husband. 

“Right you are,” Clyde conceded, running his manicured fingers through his well trimmed beard, “My day went well, actually. About as exciting as teeth can be. The Caldwell’s are far too concerned about their daughters' loose teeth. They didn’t appreciate the crack I made about using the old _‘tie a string to the door knob and yank’_ technique if all else fails.” 

Mickey chuckled at the joke, just as he knew Clyde wanted him to, although his mind was miles away. It was disturbingly easy to just go through the motions, and there had been no shortage of opportunities for Mickey to practise as of late. 

It seemed to do the trick, and Clyde’s eyes lit up, pleased with his husband’s reaction. “Anyways, dear, how about you? Tell me how your day went.”

Mickey took an exceedingly large gulp of his drink, hoping that the alcohol would set him more at ease. He knew it was a simple question, but given the day's events, it felt a bit like an interrogation.

“It went good,” Mickey shrugged. He felt like he should probably elaborate, but he didn’t know exactly what else to say that wouldn’t incriminate him. 

“ _Well_ ,” corrected Clyde, out of habit, and Mickey ground his teeth. “I’m glad it went _well._ What did you do all day? Did you get around to drafting the invoices from that list I gave you?” 

Mickey paled a little. Years ago, near the beginning of their relationship, Mickey and confided in Clyde that he had been the one running the financial side of the Milkovich operation since his early teens, keeping makeshift records for Terry and making sure they were all getting paid when it came time to collect. Mickey had a head for numbers, which would have been a shock to any who took one look at him back in the day. He had been the veritable poster boy for delinquent dropouts. 

Clyde had immediately suggested that Mickey take part in his dentistry practice by keeping track of financial records and preparing invoices for clients. _Like my very own secretary_ , Clyde had quipped on more than one occasion, much to Mickey’s eternal chagrin. Mickey knew it wasn’t actually his role; Clyde already HAD a secretary, and an assistant that did most of the heavy lifting. 

Mickey had been working for him in earnest in the beginning of their relationship, and Clyde was even paying him for it. Once they tied the knot, however, it seemed impractical for Clyde to be paying his own husband, since Mickey was benefitting from Clyde’s wealth every day of his life anyway. He still ran the numbers and invoiced from time to time, but Mickey had been slacking lately - call it lack of motivation. 

“ _Shit_ ,” Mickey cracked his knuckles absently once finger after the other, popping each joint with his thumb, “Shit, no I didn’t. I totally forgot that you asked me to do that.” In his defense, he had been deeply _preoccupied_. 

A look of agitation flashed across Clyde’s features, and he sighed heavily. “ _Mickey_ . We’ve talked about this. You can fiddle around with the numbers all you like, but when I ask you to do those invoices, they need to be done _ASAP_.” 

Mickey’s first clenched against the table, his automatic reaction whenever Clyde took that particular scolding tone. It brought to mind every school teacher he had ever hated, bitching at him to smarten up. Mickey _Milkovich_ would have flipped Clyde off and told him to shove his invoices up his own ass, before storming off to go drink a twelve pack and brood. Mickey _Miller_ had learned to quell this urge. Mickey _Miller_ was too fucking mentally exhausted to expend the energy making a scene in public. 

“I’m fuckin’ sorry, a’right?” Mickey grumbled, “But you shouldn’t make me responsible for shit if you’ve got deadlines. Isn’t that what you’re paying that other mook for?” 

Clyde placed his glass back on the table and stretched out his hand across the surface, palm up, waiting for Mickey to reciprocate. Mickey stared at his hand for a few seconds longer than he probably should have, but ultimately relented, sliding his hand into Clyde’s and allowing him to cradle it in his grasp. It was strange- even more strange than usual. Clyde’s skin was soft, but weathered and slightly wrinkled with age. It was yet another reminder for Mickey of how opposite he and his husband were, and how he was ultimately out of his depths. 

“You should be responsible for _something_ ,” Clyde entoned, making Mickey instantly regret holding his hand. “I’m afraid you’re getting complacent, Mickey. All you’ve been doing lately is spending time with the dogs, smoking, and playing those god awful video games.” He gripped Mickey’s fingers, tightening like a vice. 

Mickey’s puckered his lips, like the words tasted as sour as they sounded. A small flame of indignation sparked inside of him. “Thought that’s how you wanted it, huh?” He spat, without thinking it all the way through. “Thought you wanted me fuckin bare-foot-and-pregnant. I’m a trophy husband, aren’t I?” It was a bold challenge and it was exhilarating to say it out loud for once.

Knitting his brows together, Clyde stared him down for a moment. Mickey fucking hated to admit that he found that look _intimidating_. It was in these moments that he was forced to come to terms with how unbelievably soft he had allowed himself to become over the last few years. To outsiders, Clyde was kindly and outgoing, a real man’s man. Mickey was privy to a different side, one that fucked with his head to no end. One where any ‘concern’ and ‘consideration’ Clyde displayed were masking something far more self-serving. 

“You really do have a flare for the dramatics,” Clyde tutted, and he only released Mickey’s hand from his grasp when the waitress returned. Mickey's leg bounced impatiently under the table as Clyde took his sweet time ordering for both of them. Once the waitress had collected the menus, Clyde continued. “I’m just concerned for you, my love. As they say, idle hands are the devil’s playground...” 

“The fuck are you implying?” Mickey balked, a bit too defensively, a cold chill creeping up his spine. His vision was starting to swim, and he could hardly blame it on the two sips of rum he’d ingested. _He knows, holy shit, he fuckin knows,_ Mickey’s thoughts looped and spiraled, and he braced himself for the downfall of everything. 

But Clyde simply quirked an eyebrow in confusion. “Implying? I’m not implying anything. It’s just with the colorful history of alcoholism, drug abuse, and general criminal conduct in your family, I think it’s best you keep yourself busy - don’t you? I don’t want you to end up back where I found you.” Before Mickey could even begin to react to the disparaging innuendos of that particular statement, Clyde had more to say. “Why? Is there something I should be aware of?” 

Mickey tried to keep his expression as neutral as physically possible, despite the icy stream that flowed through his veins in place of his blood. “No. Of course not. _Excuse me_ if I resent you using the past against me like that. I thought you meant it when you said that shit doesn’t matter anymore. Guess I was wrong.” 

Clyde’s gaze lingered on Mickey’s face for an uncomfortable amount of time, like he was searching for something among his husband’s stoic features. Mickey wasn’t sure what it was, exactly, but he did his best to not let anything slip.

“I like to think this is a marriage of equals, dear - but I’ve also been around the sun quite a few more times than you have. I’ve seen a thing or two, and I think I have a right to be worried about my _husband_. I want what’s best for you, Mikhailo.” Clyde stated, with a finality in his tone that Mickey interpreted as the end of the discussion. 

Mickey had about ten more things he wanted to say, but wisely, he kept his mouth shut. It was a good thing too, because if he kept on talking, Mickey was sure he would fuck up and say something stupid that would end up exposing everything that had happened. 

“Let’s not fight, Mick.” Clyde’s voice seemed softer than before, “I just want to enjoy this time with you.” 

Mickey was well aware that a normal person, with morals and standards, should be feeling guilty as hell for defiling their marriage and letting themselves be wooed by a literal stranger. But as he and Clyde descended once again into deafening silence, Mickey realized that he wasn’t afraid of hurting Clyde, but merely afraid of the consequences of getting caught. This epiphany was followed closely by a single unavoidable truth- he couldn’t go on pretending to be in love for much longer.

So maybe Clyde was right after all. Maybe he was always one fuck-up away from sliding back into the muck. 

_I can’t let this happen again_ , Mickey thought, resolutely. Ian would be back next week to keep tabs on the pool, and Mickey made the decision right then and there that he would have nothing else to do with the poolboy, other than to tell the man to back the fuck off and leave him alone. 

Mickey couldn’t afford to throw away the life he had built up over some _fling_. 

*

Once Ian had trudged up the steps to his little Southside apartment, he had spent the rest of his evening coming up with ways to keep himself distracted, and keep his mind off of Mickey. 

He’d baked- and subsequently eaten- an entire homemade pizza as he lounged on his worn-out old couch, flicking through the shows Netflix was recommending to him. Predictably, nothing caught his eye.

It wasn’t difficult for Ian to guess why nothing seemed very interesting to him since he was still fighting off the high of almost getting caught, even hours after the fact. After an eternity of listening to the first five seconds of what felt like a million show trailers, Ian finally gave the fuck up and loaded up PUBG. He played two rounds and lost both. _Badly_. 

Later on, in the shower, Ian hissed when the hot water made contact a patch of sunburnt flesh on the back of his neck. He must’ve missed the spot while applying sunscreen in the morning, and once he got a good look at it in the mirror, Ian was sure the inflamed skin was some sort of karmic sign.

Careful to avoid scraping against the sore spots, Ian changed into a fresh pair of boxers and an oversized tank, and made the short trek into his cramped kitchen to grab yet another armful of junk food from the cupboard before plopping back down in front of his TV. Time seemed to lose all meaning as Ian slowly worked away at his stash of granola bars and Pringles, thanking whatever benevolent being decided to give him such a rapid metabolism. When he eventually zoned back in, he’d been brutally beaten by a group of merciless twelve year olds during every match he played, and time had somehow gone from 6:30 to 11pm in the blink of an eye. 

With the rest of his apartment completely shrouded in darkness, Ian squinted against the glare of the screen in front of him and stretched each of his cramped limbs out in tandem. Eventually he stood, allowing the moth-eaten blanket he had wrapped himself up in to drop back onto the sofa. Ian scratched at his sides, lifting his tank top slightly to run his fingernails up and down his ribs. Sighing despondently, Ian decided not to bother turning on any more lights, opting instead to shut down his only light source and take his chances with tripping over shit as he shambled the short distance into his bedroom. 

There were countless things that Ian loved about having his own apartment, away from the chaos he had grown accustomed to as a child. He appreciated the privacy, and the quiet, especially in the moments when life became too overwhelming and he needed a silent environment in which to decompress. However, there were definite downsides to living alone. As Ian climbed into his bed in the pitch black and nestled into the cool fabric of his sheets, he would have killed to have a single soul to bounce his racing thoughts off of - to pour his heart out to. His siblings were always welcome to come over of course, but there was only so much Ian was willing to admit to his family.

Dating during the last few years had been rough for Ian. It seemed like each time he felt himself start to open up to a new man, they’d be out the door before he could blink. By this point, he’d survived a multitude of failed relationships, many of which only lasted for _months_ at a time. Ian had moved into his current apartment days after the abrupt end of his most recent and longest lasting relationship. Unlike with previous boyfriends, Ian had committed himself for the long haul with Andrew. Technically, they had been planning on moving into the apartment _together_ , but before they could go through with signing the lease, Andrew had come clean that he just didn’t feel the same way about Ian anymore. And Ian would have been lying if he said he wasn’t _devastated_ , initially. He could never quite come to terms with how someone could just… stop having feelings. How one minute, a man would be promising him the world, and the very next minute he would be giving Ian the same tired old speech - letting him down _easy_. 

_I think you’re a great guy, Ian. We’re just not meant for each other._ That’s what Andrew had said to him during the break up, at any rate. Ian couldn’t really imagine being _meant_ for anyone. All he could do was graciously acknowledge that perhaps he was just not cut out for a long term relationship, set up in the tiny apartment all by himself, and move the fuck on.

It had been just over a year since that catastrophe had unfolded, and Ian was doing just fine, if he did say so himself. His new motto - namely, _‘fuck relationships’ -_ was working out pretty damn well for him so far. Ian had figured out that, with the help of the extra cash he earned at the pool cleaning gig Lip had scored him, he was more than capable of making rent and utilities each month without _anyone_ else’s help.

Ian set his morning alarm before shoving his phone under his pillow and settling down, his entire body seeming to exhale the tension it had been storing deep in his bones. It was now, in the stillness of his room, with nothing to distract him save for the whirling of the ancient ceiling fan, that Ian found thoughts of Mickey slowly creeping in. It was unavoidable really - Ian had encountered something inexplicable in the way Mickey felt, and tasted, and _smelled_ . Christ, Ian had felt like fucking _animal_ in heat when they were together in the kitchen. 

“He couldn’t have just been fucking _single…_ ” Ian flopped onto his back and whispered into the empty room. He stared up plaintively at the dusty popcorn ceiling, watching as the blades of the fan spin in a hypnotic pattern, hoping that by some miracle the motion would lull him to sleep. Ian had to be up fairly early for his shift on the rig, and yet he had a feeling that sleep was not something he would be getting a lot of on that particular night. 

It would have been so much easier to chalk Mickey up to nothing more than a spoiled douchebag - a man who thought he was hot shit just because he managed to legally ensnare a sugar-daddy in order to escape a life of destitution in the Southside. But Ian couldn’t shake the feeling that there had to be something else there, something more to Mickey that had led to Ian being _caught on him_ ; hook, line, and sinker.

Ian’s fingers inched slowly towards the waistband of his boxers with each intrusive thought. After hours of succeeding in holding back his most depraved and shameful fantasies, he finally allowed the visions to take hold. Ian found himself reliving each intense moment of his encounter with Mickey, from the very first fevered kiss, to the way his jaw _ached_ as he opened up to swallow Mickey’s cock. Eventually, Ian grunted to himself, realizing that his boxers were tented considerably, and that he had little choice but to relieve himself before his body would ever allow him to sleep. 

Plunging a hand below the fabric, Ian gave his hard dick a few preliminary strokes while he reached out towards his night stand, pawing at it blindly in the dark before locating the all important bottle of lube. 

Just over five minutes later, as he bucked into his hand through a sharp, satisfying orgasm, Ian was more than a little ashamed to admit that he exhaled Mickey’s name into the air as he came, like some sort of fucked up promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We supplied a bit of an insight into Mickey's marriage and Ian's life in this chapter. Hope you all enjoyed it! We'd love to hear what you think! 😊


	5. Why the hell else would you be here?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you lovelies for all the support <3

[ ](https://ibb.co/vcBt3DD)

As far as Mickey was concerned, it had been a long ass week of sleepless nights and restless days, trying to keep his mind anywhere but Ian. Although he had managed to fill the time with as much random shit as possible, it was ultimately pointless. His thoughts were a near constant cycle of Ian, interspersed with literally anything else he could dream up to occupy his mind. 

It didn’t seem to matter how many times he dug out the old chewed up rope to play tug of war with the dogs, or how many hours he spent pouring over Clyde’s client records and compiling invoices, everything eventually melted away and all that was left was Ian’s eyes, Ian’s hands… _fuck_ , Ian’s lips. 

Mickey was baffled, honestly. How the hell had this guy managed to fuck him up so badly after just one- admittedly _raunchy_ \- interaction? It was a mystery, but it was Mickey’s reality nonetheless. Without much apparent effort, the redhead had burrowed into his skull.

Under his skin. 

_Like a fuckin’ parasite_ , Mickey tried to add on, if only to delude himself further. As much as he wanted it to be, the whole _‘Ian’_ debacle didn’t feel very parasitic. It felt warm and jittery, resting in his belly. It was what he used to feel for Clyde, in the beginning, but magnified ten times over. It scared the ever loving _shit_ out of him.

On top of it all, Mickey was rapidly becoming convinced that Clyde could see inside of his mind, into the parts he was trying desperately to shove deep down. The shit Clyde had said to him during dinner was constantly gnawing away at him, like an unscratchable itch. Mickey wanted so badly to be able to reduce it all down to the concern of a loving husband, but he wasn’t an idiot. There was a reason Clyde’s admonishments came off as vaguely threatening; it didn’t take much reading between the lines on Mickey’s part to get the message. 

_Know your place. Stay in line. Don’t you dare take for granted what I’ve done for you._

All week something had been off between them, even more so than usual. On the surface, Clyde was unfazed and appeared as lightheartedly affectionate as ever, but Mickey could feel the passive aggressiveness mounting in the little things, even while Clyde was smiling and laughing and kissing him.

It wasn’t hard to see why. Mickey knew he was being cold and distant, which must have been especially frustrating for the man who had been steadily breaking down Mickey’s barriers for years now. But it was making Mickey squirm in his skin to be touched, and kissed, and _fucked_ by Clyde when that stupid ginger asshole kept popping up, unbidden in his brain, like a screwed up game of whack-a-mole: _infidelity edition_. 

Ian would be back on Saturday, and Clyde had informed Mickey that he'd be making house calls all day, leaving him to grapple with the situation - alone, again. That was precisely why Mickey had spent the majority of Friday night into the early hours of Saturday morning, tossing and turning next to his husband, sweat drenching the satin sheets despite the industrial strength air conditioner blowing a frigid slipstream across his body.

It definitely didn’t help that Mickey had experienced the worse sex of his life only hours before. Clyde had never been an overly generous lover and Mickey had never really needed him to be - when it came down to it, Mickey could take care of himself just fine. However, it was hard to ignore how his husband’s deeply self centered nature had shone through during sex that night. It could hardly be called _making love_. 

Mickey had been able to finish his husband off after only two and a half minutes of full-throttle dick sucking, and Clyde exerted very little effort while attempting to return the favor. Typically, Mickey chalked it up to the perils of having a partner who was three decades older than him, and the shiny veneer of their infatuation having finally worn off. 

This time, Mickey could tell there was more to it than that. It was as if Clyde could sense every time Mickey’s mind supplied him with the _forbidden thoughts_ , and Mickey had to think of saggy tits and old lady muff just to stop himself from spiralling. Needless to say, he didn’t get off. 

Instead, Mickey spent hours rolling around, trying unsuccessfully to get comfortable, working out the best way to tell that carrot-topped bastard to fuck off. It seemed pretty damn straightforward; all Mickey really had to do was avoid him for the best results. But, he had a sneaking suspicion that putting the whole thing to bed wouldn’t be that simple. No, Mickey needed to confront him like a fucking _man_ and leave no doubt in Ian’s mind where he stood on their little kitchen rendezvous. 

Things already appeared to be going down-hill with Clyde, and Mickey was determined to get his shit straight, and put it behind him. He’d already beaten the odds of his upbringing by marrying Clyde and allowing himself, for once in his life, to be taken care of. He’d be damned if he would toss it all away for the first hot piece of ass that strolled past. 

That’s what Mickey told himself, at least. 

Yet, even after making up his mind and turning over with a huff to spoon his sleeping husband like he _meant it_ , Mickey knew sleep was just wishful thinking. 

**  
  
**

For Ian, the week between his first and second visit to the Miller mansion was a torturous affair. He hadn’t been able to properly purge his mind of Mickey, and the mental strain was beginning to take its toll. 

Shifts at work were the closest Ian got to having a Mickey-free thought process, and even then, Ian’s mind was conjuring up some pretty unspeakable things at the most inappropriate of times. He never fucking imagined that his brain would betray him while giving an impromptu tracheotomy or inspecting a gaping wound in the back of the rig, and yet, Ian found he was fantasizing constantly. It was a damn good thing being an EMT was nearly second nature to him, or else the poor unsuspecting citizens of Chicago would have been screwed, _big time._

In his downtime, Ian was keeping himself so busy that he almost felt manic, but of course - he knew the difference. When he was manic, Ian felt like he was floating so far above the earth that nothing could pull him down. This was nothing more than rapid fire distractions, and trying to force himself to think of something, anything, other than…. well he tried to not even label it. It was nothing. It _had_ to be. 

By the time Friday night had rolled around, Ian was convinced that he had tried cooking every recipe on the Internet, reading every book at the library, and running across every square mile of the Southside. In the end, he was left with nothing to show for it, other than a kitchen full of dirty dishes, a stack of library books he had to return at some point, and goddamn _shin splints_. But his head was still swimming with _Mickey_ _Milkovich_. 

Milkovich. That was something else Ian was having a hard time coming to terms with. He remembered the Milkovich’s quite vividly - they were hard to fucking miss, even for the Southside. Ian had gotten along surprisingly well with Mandy as a teen, mostly due to the fact that on several occasions, he had defended her against a few of the schools more perverted teachers whenever their advances became too forward. He could recall on one occasion she had confessed to him that the reason she hadn’t told her brothers about the predatory creeps was because she knew that not a single one of them was opposed to murder. According to Mandy, each of them would gladly serve hard time in the name of protecting their little sister. 

It was strange to think that the Mickey he had met in the Northside - clean, unapologetically out of the closet, and in the arms of a wealthy old bastard - had ever fit in with the filthy, inbred, Milkovich clan. But the more Ian contemplated it, he didn’t have trouble picking out Mickey’s idiosyncrasies, the ones that were Southside through and through. 

And as much as Ian was fixated on how mind-numbingly, _cock-stiffeningly_ hot the memory sucking Mickey off like a popsicle was- the only thing Ian detested more than a disgustingly rich Northsider was an _imposter_ . He could feel his blood begin to boil thinking about Mickey lounging around that big ass house, pretending to be someone he clearly fucking _wasn’t_ . Not that Ian was all that jazzed about where he grew up either. It certainly wasn’t a walk in the park. There was something about surviving _it,_ and coming out the other side, that made the act of disowning all of it seem almost… _sacrilegious_. 

Ian knew that being pissed off at someone for escaping the dysfunction and renouncing their Southside identity was most likely a dick move, especially when he knew so little about who Mickey really was. However, from the limited interaction he had with Clyde, Ian was already convinced that Mickey had simply traded one type of dysfunction for another. 

Ian had laid in bed for as long as he could force himself to stay still on Saturday morning - _thinking, thinking, thinking._ Would Clyde be out of the house again this time? Would Mickey prove him right and be an insufferable prick, maybe even going so far as to pretend nothing had happened between them? All Ian knew for sure was that he needed to just fucking get it over with already. He wouldn’t have to be there for as long on his subsequent visits anyway, just long enough to clean the leaves out of the pool, check the chemicals, and make sure everything was working correctly. It was so simple and Clyde was paying him almost twice the going rate to do it, to ensure topnotch service. 

What made Mickey so captivating to him? Ian tried to figure that shit out until his head was literally aching. At 5:45 am, he just decided to put himself out of his misery and get a slightly early start to his morning run. The sooner he got a move on, the sooner he could power his way through the first two pool cleanings on his list before the Miller’s. 

Ian wasn’t sure what the hell was going to happen when he got there, but the suspense was almost too much to handle. 

Mickey had spent the majority of Saturday morning hunched on the bed, mounds of his husband’s paperwork scattered across the sheets. His eyes scanned through lines of numbers, but his thoughts were anything but focused. It helped that Baxter and Mimsy were sprawled out on the floor nearby, their low panting and occasional whines serving to bring him a small dose of comfort. 

He was so on edge about Ian’s pending arrival that he physically flinched when Clyde snuck up swiftly behind him, from the ensuite bathroom and dropped a kiss between his shoulder blades, on the line of exposed flesh between his t-shirt collar and hairline. 

“ _Jesus Ch_ \- warn a guy before you-“ Mickey snapped around to lay into his husband, but was silenced by another unwarranted kiss. He huffed impatiently against Clyde’s slightly dry lips. 

“I’m heading out on my house calls,” Clyde announced when he finally released Mickey from his hold. 

_Nah, really?_ said Mickey’s sarcastic inner dialogue. Clyde was wearing his ‘house call’ white coat over a rust colored argyle sweater vest and dress shirt combination, with a pair of tan Armani dress pants that were tailored to _perfection -_ or so he liked to claim. He carried with him a leather dentistry tote, filled with all of the tools of the trade. All in all, Clyde was obviously dressed for business, not for a random outing.

“Uh huh,” Mickey muttered, turning back towards the shit he was pretending to work on. “Well, have a good one…” The sentiment came off slightly more aloof than Mickey meant it to. Since he had cracked an eye open at the break of dawn, Mickey’s thoughts had been on a loop - as if someone hit _repeat_ on the soundtrack in his brain and left the room. He knew that the sooner his husband left and Ian arrived, the sooner he could put the whole shit show behind him. Mickey could practically feel Clyde glaring at the back of his head. The dogs were circling the man’s ankles now, looking for affection, but Clyde would not be deterred. 

“I love you, _Mikhailo_ .” Clyde’s tone didn’t sound nearly sincere enough as the words dropped from his lips. What’s more, there was a little hardness in his words - they formed a statement, _demanding_ a response. Mickey could feel the sweat beading and pooling in the small of his back. _Shit_ , he was hesitating too long. 

“Love you too, ” Mickey replied a beat later, although his delivery was about as artificial as a human could possibly sound while saying such intimate words. Even so, it seemed to give Clyde what he was after for the time being. 

“Wonderful,” Clyde drooped down onto the bed beside Mickey, facing the opposite direction, bending as far forward as he could in order to finally give the dogs a moment of attention. He cooed inanely at Mimsy - his _pride and joy_ \- while Baxter tried desperately to nose his way into the interaction, to no avail. With a frustrated _snarf,_ the larger dog swung his head in Mickey’s direction, bumping his snout into Mickey’s back. 

_Hurry the fuck up_ , Mickey screamed inside of his own skull while he twisted around to give Baxter the affection Clyde was denying him, eyeing the hands of the ornate clock hanging above the doorway. Ian was scheduled to drop by _two minutes_ ago and the only thing that would make the unavoidable interaction more painful would be if the pool boy and Clyde crossed paths yet again.

“If you could have these finished tonight that would be ideal,” Clyde motioned to the paperwork in front of Mickey. 

“That was the plan,” Mickey tried to relax his jaw and not speak through gritted teeth, but he knew he sounded tense, and Clyde was picking up on it. 

“Oh, and for god’s sake, don’t send Alice home early today. I want a proper supper tonight.” Clyde gave Mimsy one last pat and stood. Mickey grunted in response, letting Clyde know that he was listening while his eyes remained fixed on the stacks of invoices in front of him. Mickey was well aware of how irksome Clyde found this and he actually found that he was a little proud of himself for this small act of dissent. Clyde turned to face him, and for a fraction of a second Mickey swore he saw a scowl, although it was just as quickly replaced with a gentle smile.

“Have a good day, dear, I’ll see you this evening.” Clyde draped his palm over the back of Mickey’s neck, pinching with his thumb and forefinger, and Mickey braced himself for another uncomfortable kiss, which miraculously never arrived. 

“Sounds good,” Mickey nodded, once again refusing to look up. In his periphery, he could see Clyde’s silhouette paused in the doorway of their spacious master bedroom for several dragging seconds, before he finally took his leave. 

**  
  
**

Clyde made his way through the house with a poisoned look in his eyes. Mickey was acting strangely, there was no doubt about it. 

Until fairly recently, Clyde had prided himself on being one of the only people who could handle all of his headstrong husband’s… _‘Mickey’ness._ Truthfully, it hadn’t been easy, but Clyde was convinced that he had more or less _tamed the beast_ and turned self-acclaimed Southside _trash_ into… well, a version of Mickey that would agree to sit up in their bedroom all day long, dutifully doing paperwork.

It had been like a personal challenge to himself back when they had first stumbled into one another; Clyde had taken one look at the dirty street-urchin pressed up against the wall of his summer home and was sure that he had found himself a project that would bear remarkable returns if he was successful. It didn’t hurt that Mickey was incredibly _young_ and _handsome_ under all the grime and hardship. He had represented something undeniably _exciting_ and _new_ , and it felt fantastic to know that such a reckless buck would even give Clyde the time of day, let alone give himself over into a relationship. Mickey had ‘ _daddy-issues’_ , to put it mildly, and that worked out stupendously in Clyde’s favor.

All week, Clyde knew that he had been testy with Mickey, but it was only in response to Mickey’s own sudden personality changes. He couldn’t quite pinpoint the moment, but it seemed to Clyde as if a switch had been flipped, and Mickey’s old sharp and unfeeling attitude was creeping back in- reappearing after several long years of hibernation.

Clyde didn’t fancy himself a psychologist by any stretch of the imagination, but he was confident that he knew what _deflection_ looked like. It was becoming painfully obvious that Mickey was hiding something. That thought alone made Clyde want to turn back around, lock the door to their bedroom, and demand that Mickey tell him what in the hell was going on. Unfortunately, he didn’t have time for that now. He was already going to be late for his first appointment, and Clyde could not afford to let his reputation suffer. This was going to have to be something that he revisited when he could think about it more clearly.

Besides. It was probably all in his head. Mickey had always been a temperamental person and Clyde wasn’t the sort of man to throw in the towel just because something got difficult. Mickey _Miller_ was a lot of things, but ungrateful was not one of them, and Clyde had made damn sure of it.

Clyde was deep in thought as he descended the stairs into the foyer, barely nodding a ‘Good Morning’ to Alice as he passed by her at the base of the spiral staircase. As per usual, she’d left his travel mug full of coffee on the table next to the door, along with the keys to the car he usually took to work. He scooped up said keys before opening the front door and heading out, juggling his dental kit in one hand and his coffee in the other. 

_Of course I have time to get to the bottom of this,_ Clyde assured himself. _It isn’t as if my dear husband will be anywhere but right where I left him when I come back._

After all, where else could Mickey go?

When Ian pulled up to the curbside in front of the Miller house, he gave himself a few extra minutes to sit in the company issued truck, just getting his bearings. The last thing he wanted was to be wound up into a frenzy as soon as he laid eyes on Mickey again for the first time in a week. Ian reminded himself repeatedly that he was there on a job - as a pool boy and nothing more.

Despite taking a number of steady deep breaths - in through the nose, out through the mouth - Ian couldn’t seem to stop his heart from clenching in his chest every time he happened to glance out the driver side window. The new age mansion loomed over him, and in the jumble of Ian’s thoughts, the damn thing represented everything he would never have - everything Mickey was pretending to be. Ian gritted his teeth, took one more deep breath, and exited the truck, slamming the door behind him with ten times the necessary force. 

Ian climbed effortlessly into the bed of the truck and foraged through his equipment, gathering test strips and a water sampler for the task at hand. After slinging some empty chemical bottles aside, he located the bottle of algaecide he was searching for among the semi-organized chaos. Ian was banking on having to return to the truck a few times to test the water and grab any additional cleaning tools. Not only was it part of his job, but he figured that, on the off chance Mickey wasn’t planning on avoid the fuck out of him, he would definitely need a place to retreat from the inevitable tension.

_Just get in, do your fucking job, and get out_ , Ian instructed himself sternly as he dismounted the truck bed and made his way towards the white-washed back gate, where the charming little doorbell was waiting to be pressed. _Nobody has to get hurt._

Clyde had barely rounded the corner before Mickey was throwing the papers in his hands down like they were made of radioactive materials and scrambling off of the bed, nearly tripping headlong over Baxter’s body and crushing poor Mimsy in the process. He made his profuse apologies to both dogs before swiftly exiting the bedroom, and carefully checking to see that Clyde had indeed left and wasn’t hanging around in the hallway. Maybe the paranoia was a good thing, keeping Mickey on his toes.

Sooner than later, Mickey would have _shit all_ to be paranoid about anyway, and things would be going back to fucking normal. He was trying to feel excited at the prospect of forgetting the whole mess, but it didn’t exactly feel like something to celebrate. Mickey just had to get through the most difficult part - making it clear to Ian that he wanted to be left _alone_. 

In a pleasant turn of events, as if the universe herself was orchestrating shit just for him, Mickey reached the landing of the staircase just in time to see his husband slam the front door behind him. A split second later, a cheery sounding ring echoed through the main foyer, letting him know that someone was waiting to be let in at the back gate.

Alice swooped around the corner before Mickey could even take the first step down the stairs. “I’ll get that Mr- _Mickey_ ,” She corrected herself with a knowing smile, and began scampering in the direction of the ringing bell. 

“ _No_! No, it’s all good,” Mickey yelped down at her before he could reign himself in, causing the startled woman to pause mid-step and glance up at him, awaiting further instruction. Mickey bounded down the staircase, while still trying to be mindful of his footing- the last thing he needed was a fucking busted ankle. He could hear the dogs approaching quickly behind him, enthralled by the commotion he was causing.

“I’ll get it,” Mickey puffed as he passed the clearly confused maid, “probably just the pool boy…” 

“Oh, alright,” Alice nodded, and chuckled warmly as the dogs engulfed her, bouncing on their hind legs and pawing at her apron. 

As he watched on, Mickey was suddenly struck by an idea - a goddamn _clever_ one, if he did say so himself. He couldn’t risk Alice overhearing the conversation he was about to have with Ian. After all, Mickey was pretty sure she’d seen too much last weekend, and he was determined to not fuck up again. 

“Just so you know…” Mickey turned and spoke to the maid, slowly backing away from her, “Clyde’s been going on nonstop about the delicious shit you cooked up the other night- what’s it called again? Something about baby cows?” Mickey snapped his fingers, putting on a show of trying to remember, even though he wasn’t a fucking dumbass, and he knew what _veal_ was.

Alice’s face brightened as she grabbed Baxter’s front paws and did a little dance with him. “Veal Marsala!” She exclaimed and beamed pridefully at Mickey. “It’s a family recipe! My kids love it too.”

“Right, well he said something to me before he left about wanting it for dinner again tonight. You think you could do that? I mean, I know it’s short notice but-” 

“Of course I can do it!” Alice interrupted him, and cast her eyes heavenward, tapping her lips with a finger, deep in thought. “I’ll just need to run out and grab a few things - it tastes the best when I buy the veal fresh from the butcher the day of, and I need some button mushrooms and-”

The back doorbell cut her off when it rang again yet again, seemingly louder this time, even though Mickey was pretty positive that it was just his imagination. Mickey scrambled to grab his wallet from his back pocket, yanking a wad of cash out the billfold without even bothering to count it. “Get whatever you need to make it happen. This should cover it,” he held the bills out towards Alice, whose eyes only widened a fraction as she pushed past the dogs to claim the cash. 

“Thank you, sir!” Alice breathed reverentially as she stared at the cash in her hands, and she was off like a shot towards the kitchen - most likely to take inventory of missing ingredients - before Mickey could tell her for the millionth time not to call him ‘sir’. 

Mickey took an unbelievably brief second to feel satisfied with himself, relieved that Alice would be one less variable to consider in the equation. And then the doorbell was ringing again, causing him to fumble his wallet back into his pocket and spring into action. 

Mickey practically _jogged_ towards Clyde’s study, heart pounding and fists clenched. 

**  
  
**

The front door automatically locked behind Clyde with a sharp click, and he didn’t care to turn back and deadbolt it. He strode towards the driveway where his brand new Lincoln Navigator was waiting for him, twirling his car keys idly. Just as Clyde was contemplating replacing two cracked stones on the patchwork path, he happened to glance up and immediately noticed the tall redhead poised at the back gate, finger pressed to the doorbell like it was his job.

“Hello?” Clyde called out, and when the man let up on the doorbell and spun like a top to face him, Clyde registered panic on his familiar features - an expression that was swiftly and expertly replaced with a dazzling smile. The _poolboy_! Clyde had been so damn preoccupied with the strange happenings with his husband that it had completely slipped his mind that the pool boy was scheduled for a follow up.

“Oh! Hi, Dr. Miller.” Ian’s fingers tightened around the equipment in his hands and his stomach flipped like a flapjack. Of all the eventualities he had envisioned for the day, running into Clyde was not one of them. He’d simply hoped Dr. Miller would have been long gone to work before he arrived. In retrospect, it was a stupid oversight. “How are you today, sir?” Ian managed to ask pleasantly, despite how Clyde’s mere presence fucking irritated him to no end. 

The man was dripping the type of arrogance that comes with full ride scholarships, stock market investments, and the unmistakable stink of a man who had never known poverty the way Ian had become _intimately_ acquainted with it. Perhaps the most infuriating part of it all was how Clyde was evidently oblivious to Ian's disdain for him. 

“I’m well.” Clyde responded dismissively, transparent in his desire to not keep up the pleasantries for long. He had other places to be. “I’ll let you in. My husband’s in the middle of something at the moment. ” Clyde stepped forward to set his travel mug on top of the roof of the obnoxiously large SUV before advancing towards Ian, brushing passed him, keys in hand. It took him several minutes to find the minuscule key that belonged to the back gate, due to the sheer number adorning his keyring. 

Ian kept mum as he observed Clyde, until the man accomplished the task of slotting the correct key into the nearly nonexistent keyhole. He _monologued_ the entire time, much to Ian’s displeasure. 

“It’s a good thing I’m running a bit behind today, I suppose. Mickey’s probably forgotten all about your visit, and he’s not one to jump up and answer the door if he doesn’t- ” Clyde’s words fizzled and died in his throat, as he swung the back gate open towards himself, only to find his _husband_ frozen in the gateway, eyes clamped shut, exhaling a deep breath. 

Mickey’s hand was outstretched, as if to grab a hold of the handle that was now no longer within his grasp, thanks to Clyde. 

“Mikhailo? _What_ are you doing?”

**  
  
**

Mickey eyes snapped open at the sound of his husband’s voice, and he felt a fucking conniption fit coming on when he saw the horrifying sight before him. Clyde was standing just beyond the entrance, confusion written all over his face, and behind him stood Ian, looking a few shades paler than Mickey could remember him being during his last visit - yet just as gorgeous. 

“Huh?” Mickey sputtered, trying to collect himself and save face in spite of the unnerving turn of events. “Someone was hammering on the fuckin’ doorbell for the back gate so I’m answering it, _obviously_. Figured it musta been the-” he gestured broadly in Ian’s general direction, “-the fuckin’ _poolboy_ or whatever.”

Clyde’s eyes narrowed briefly at Mickey’s flustered tone, but he quickly decided he didn’t have the time nor the patience to try and puzzle out yet another of his husband’s strange antics. He really needed to be going, and all of this was only serving to make him even more tardy for his scheduled appointments.

“I see, well, it seems I made it to him first,” Clyde quipped, “now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve already missed my window of opportunity to stop off at the bakery for those little chocolate filled croissants I like so much…” 

When Clyde leaned forward, evidently expecting one last goodbye kiss, it took everything in Mickey’s power to not pull away. It was a rushed and pitiful peck of a kiss, but if Clyde noticed, he didn’t make it known. 

Ian’s bright green gaze was glued to Mickey the entire time, and Mickey could feel his face heating up like an oven. Things were already going off the fucking rails, and the scheduled appointment had barely begun. 

Awkwardly. Ian stepped out of Clyde's way as the man _finally_ took his leave. He tried not to gawk at Clyde as he went, walking with purpose over to his car. _Jesus_ , even his walk was snobby, like the stick shoved two feet up his ass was gold plated or some shit. The Lincoln pulled out of the driveway in no time, leaving the two men standing in tense silence. 

“ _Fuck_ , that was un- _fuckin’_ -comfortable,” Mickey exhaled, and when he realized he’d said it out loud, it served only to mortify him further.

Ian swallowed a nervous chuckle and gave Mickey an accidental once over, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “Uh… I came to check the chemicals… clean the pool if I need to… ya know…” Ian felt as though every scrap of confidence he’d had was long gone after unexpectedly bumping into Clyde.

“Yeah, I _know_ man. Why the hell else would you be here?” Mickey scoffed, deflecting some of his embarrassment with his trademark callousness. He was finding it goddamn difficult to look at the redhead without feeling the uncontrollable tingle deep in his guts. The memories of their first encounter were rushing back now with full force, and Mickey chose to turn away and motion for Ian to follow him into the backyard before things got even weirder. “What’re you waiting for, _Anne of Green Gables_? Lock the gate behind you.” 

Just because Ian had been halfway counting on Mickey being a bit hostile towards him, didn’t mean he wasn’t put off by it. He wasn’t totally sure what he had been expecting, but Ian was pretty certain that another illicit encounter with Mickey just wasn’t in the cards. The hostility was comfortingly familiar, as sad as it was to say, and what’s more - it was something Ian knew how to _handle_ . 

Mickey looked just as tempting as he had the last time Ian had seen him, and Ian couldn’t seem to restrain himself, his eyes roving over every square inch of the man’s frame as Mickey led him towards the pool.

“I… Um- I’ll have to go back to the truck to test the water, so I’ll need to leave it unlocked.” Ian explained but it sounded more like a question.

“Look, you do whatever you need to do, alright? Just get a move on. I’ve got shit to do today,” Mickey snapped. He didn’t look at Ian. He couldn’t. Mickey needed his prepared spiel to stay up in his fucking cranium for long enough to spit it out when he finally found his balls. 

The hiccup with Clyde was just another reminder of how precarious his situation was, and how badly he needed to put an end to this with Ian. Mickey fished in the pocket of his Levi’s and pulled out a single loose cigarette and lighter- his little life raft in what felt like an overbearing ocean of discomfort. 

Mickey _wouldn’t_ be offering one to Ian. Not this time. **  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bear with us ;) Clyde is nowhere to be found next chapter... 
> 
> Comments and kudos are loved and appreciated! Tell us what you think!


	6. Guess you get what you wish for.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! ❤️❤️❤️
> 
> Follow us on our socials: 
> 
> Jinlin5- insta: @gallavich_doodles; tumblr: @doodlevich  
> camnoelgallavich- insta: @cam.monaghanfan; Twitter: @cam_monaghanfan

Ian had honestly been expecting Mickey to venture back inside upon letting him through the back gate, so he was more than a little surprised when he watched the man pull out a smoke and light it up. 

When no offer of a cigarette came from Mickey, it only cemented in Ian’s mind that Mickey felt no obligation to him, despite the intimate moment they shared. Ian tried to keep the scowl off of his face as he lugged his supplies along the perimeter of the pool, dropping them beside one of the pool loungers. The resentment was building in his chest, accumulating like some kind of toxin. 

Ian swallowed and tried his damndest to ignore it. Mickey was standing stock-still a few feet away from him, despite claiming to have a busy work day ahead of him. Ian couldn’t shake the feeling that Mickey was almost _vibrating_ in place, sucking down large drags of his smoke and letting out grey plumes big enough to obscure his features from Ian’s view every few seconds. It was as if Mickey was _waiting_ for something, and it unnerved Ian to no end. 

Ian decided he wasn’t going to fucking bite. If Mickey had something to say, he would either keep it to himself or say that shit straight to Ian’s face. 

In an effort to keep his mind from spiraling further, Ian trained his eyes on the pool. Much to his embarrassment, he fumbled around with his equipment for a few minutes, trying to seem like a professional - trying to seem like his heart wasn’t actually doing Olympics-caliber cartwheels behind his ribs. Ian knelt down next to the pool, opening the bottle in his hand to get a sample of water that he needed to test. He managed to maintain this weak ruse for what felt like ages, until he felt a nagging need to look up. It had gotten a little too quiet for Ian’s liking, and due to his chaotic upbringing, _quiet_ typically spelled out _danger_. Part of Ian hoped that when he looked up, Mickey would have disappeared. 

Ian gave in and looked. Mickey was still there, the butt of the nearly spent cigarette pinched between his lips. Quite by accident, Ian caught Mickey’s gaze before Mickey quickly averted his eyes. Ian instantly did the same, cursing at his reflection in the water. He began filling up his clear bottle with enough water to run through the water purity checks when he returned to the truck.

Apparently, Mickey wasn’t going anywhere. 

  
  
  


Mickey had entertained the thought of hightailing it back inside and locking himself in his fucking bedroom to lick his wounds. He felt like the world's biggest idiot, especially considering the fool he had just made of himself in front of both Clyde and Ian. 

_Ian_. 

Mickey felt stuck in limbo, left awkwardly smoking his cigarette, trying to decide if he still had the nerve to confront Ian. It was fucking stupid. It was his backyard, dammit. If he wanted to stand there and smoke through a whole pack of Export A’s, and stare Ian down for his entire visit, he had every right to. When Ian looked up at him, Mickey almost felt his heart drop out of his ass. He couldn’t look away fast enough. 

_When did I turn into such a pussy?_ Mickey wondered, forlorn. 

Ultimately, Mickey knew it was now or never. Time to cut the shit and end this once and for all. He ground out the cigarette butt beneath his heel on the walkway, and took several bold steps forward, although he felt like his legs might still give out. He was positive if he didn’t just start talking, he would never be able to get the words out. Conversation wasn’t his strong suit, but he had been more than capable of mouthing off to any motherfucker, back in the day. Mickey swallowed dryly and tried to channel that same badass energy.

“A’right! Listen up, cuz I’m only gonna say this shit _once_.” Mickey’s voice sounded foreign in his own ears, brimming with a level of self-confidence that he was hardly feeling. 

Ian’s head snapped up, and his green eyes sprung wide open, before narrowing to confused slits. “Excuse me?” He mumbled dumbly.

Mickey barreled through, ignoring the dopey way the ginger was regarding him. “That bullshit that went down last time you were here? Yeah, that should have never fucking happened. I don’t know if you _noticed_ , but I got a fucking husband.” 

Ian was a tad taken aback at Mickey’s forwardness, but his unwillingness to leave the backyard suddenly made much more sense. Mickey had obviously been working up to saying something, and now that it was out there, Ian wasn’t about to take it lying down. It just wasn’t in his DNA.

“Jeez, never woulda guessed…” Ian bristled sarcastically, “what with the way you waved that obnoxious rock in my face two fucking seconds after I met you.” 

Mickey looked down at the ring on his finger, and suddenly felt the full weight of it as it winked back at him in the noon sunlight. His nostrils flared and he huffed indignantly, feeling his face beginning to redden. 

“You see this giant ass house? This backyard? The fucking _pool_ you’ve been hired to clean? It all belongs to _him_.” Mickey jabbed his thumb into the center of his chest. “And _yeah_ , you guessed it, that goes for me too. I’m _his_. To be very fuckin' honest with you, you should be grateful that I’m even telling you this to your face. We fucked up. It was a mistake. End of story.” 

“You… _belong_ to him?” Ian finally rose up from his haunches to his full height, screwing the cap back on the sample bottle and setting it down sharply. “What, like the rest of his _property_?” Ian couldn’t hold back a laugh of disbelief. “I’m sorry, did I wake up in the fucking 50’s or something?” Ian used his height to his advantage as he crossed his arms over his chest and leveled Mickey with a cold stare. “Whatever. I guess it’s none of my fucking business. Anyone can see this shit’s not gonna last, anyway.” Ian knew he was way out of line, but he just couldn’t shut himself up. 

Mickey was genuinely affronted by Ian’s audacity. He took a step closer, because like _hell_ he was gonna let Ian’s tall ass intimidate him. “Well excuse the fuck outta _you_ ! Where do you get off acting like you know shit about my life? I just got done saying I made a _mistake_ **.** I’d be outta my mind to fuck up what I got for some smooth talkin’ vampire lookin’ jag-off like you.” 

Ian barked out a harsh laugh at the insult, which made whatever left over lust Mickey was harboring for him fade into the background as it was immediately overtaken by rage. 

“You got somethin’ to say, bitch? _Say it_.” Mickey challenged, although he had the feeling he was dragging out the confrontation longer than he needed to. He really should have just said his piece, ended it, and gone back inside to finish his husband’s paperwork. And no, the symbolism was not lost on Mickey. 

Ian’s eyes were flaming, yet he stayed silent. Eventually, he broke eye contact with Mickey, focusing on the loose leaves and other debris swirling around in the pool water. After a beat of watching Ian’s freckled hands clenching and unclenching, Mickey snorted derisively. 

“That’s what I fucking thought. We’re done here.” Mickey spat, and had all but resigned himself to turning and walking away when Ian finally opened his mouth. 

“I seriously don’t know who the hell you think you’re fooling, Mickey.” Ian said, in a carefully measured tone. Mickey’s mouth dropped open to tell him to go eat a dick or something, but Ian wasn’t finished. “Look. I can’t explain why I’m so weirdly hung up on you. If I was smart, I’d treat you like any other client and just clean the damn pool and leave. But… you’re Southside. A fucking _Milkovich..._ ” Ian trailed off, but Mickey kept his mouth shut, surprisingly, “...it’s hard for me to imagine that you don’t wanna blow your fucking brains out every day having to play house with that pretentious douche.” 

“What the fuck do you care?!” Mickey finally exploded, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation. The ring of truth in Ian’s words had officially gotten to him. “You don’t fucking _know me_!”

“Come on man.” Ian shook his head with a chuckle, and Mickey wanted to put his fist through a fucking brick wall, “You can change your last name on paper all you want, but I grew up around Milkoviches. And _you_ , Mickey, are a goddamn _Milkovich_. And you can’t hide that shit, anymore than I can hide being a Gallagher.” 

Mickey pupils dilated, and the sun suddenly felt like it was a bit closer to the earth, scorching flesh from bone. 

“ _Gallagher_?” Mickey hissed. Ian gave a nearly imperceptible nod. 

Childhood memories that Mickey kept bottled up deep inside the dark corners of his brain rushed to the forefront of his mind. All of a sudden, Mickey was sixteen years old again, wearing the same torn t-shirt for three days straight and carrying around the fresh bruises his father had doled out the night before, just for looking at Terry sideways. He remembered walking into the Kash and Grab, intent on stealing his afternoon snack, and happening upon Frank Gallagher - local con artist and booze-head - sprouting some of his usual bullshit at the kid with the mop of red hair and the big green eyes behind the counter. Another memory hit him from out left field - watching the same kid (lanky, freckly, stupid-ass bangs) walking down the school hallway towards him with Lip Gallagher, coming to collect homework money. _Ho-ly shit_. 

“Wait, you… you’re related to that dickhead, Lip?” Mickey’s voice had lowered several octaves. The sudden change threw Ian for a loop. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but given the way things had been escalating up until that moment, Ian would not have guessed that simply stating his last name would have had such an effect on Mickey. 

“Uh… yeah. He’s my brother.” Ian replied, with yet another stilted nod. He didn’t know exactly what was going on in Mickey’s mind, but given the way the man’s eyes were darting around, scouring every inch of Ian’s face, it wasn’t hard to tell that his brain was racing - creating millions of connections every second from the past to the present.

“ _Fuck_ , man.” Mickey finally spoke, and the fire that had filled him before had dwindled down to a steady simmer. “You should get it, then. Why I needed to get out. You’d think growin up in that shithole, you’d have a little fuckin’ sympathy. Being a gigantic homo - yeah, that shit don’t exactly fly where we come from. And you know it.” 

“Well, obviously it does. Because I’m still here. I survived.” Ian exclaimed defensively. “I mean yeah sure, I had to hide it from the people who would kick the shit out of me just for breathing, but at least I didn’t get hitched to the first ancient queen I met - just so I could throw money at all my problems until they just _magically_ disappeared.” Ian wiggled his fingers in Mickey’s face with dramatic flare.

“Oh, _fuck_ you,” Mickey sneered, “If you had the ol’ man **_I_ ** had you would’ve been livin’ on borrowed time, asshole.” 

Ian planted his hands on his hips and scoffed, “Did you miss the fact that I’m a Gallagher? I grew up with Frank _fuckin’_ Gallagher, the grand emperor of deadbeats, usin’ my fuckin’ pillowcases to stash his crack rocks.” 

“Believe me when I tell you, _Terry Milkovich_ makes Frank look like a goddamn alterboy.” Mickey countered venomously, although he really didn’t know why the fuck he was still talking. He didn’t owe Ian an explanation for what he chose to do with his life, but he felt the compulsion to add, “I’d be six feet under right now if it wasn’t for Clyde. _Dead_.” 

Mickey watched Ian’s expression contort for a split second, and it looked like the words pained him, which made Mickey’s insides squirm. He stared pointedly into Ian’s piercing eyes, making a point to prove that Ian wasn’t shaking him in the slightest, even though the exact opposite was true. Ian’s mouth opened as if to respond, yet only air escaped. Satisfied that Ian had no comeback to his startling admission, Mickey continued. 

“So you can just quit being all high and mighty, as if bein’ broke and being raised by crackheads is something to fuckin’ celebrate. It’s _not_ . Now just clean the stupid pool and get lost, _Gallagher_.” And with that Mickey turned to go, eager to make his exit before he lost his goddamn mind. He strode briskly along the walkway beside the pool, passing by lounge chairs as he went and resisting the urge to kick the hell out of one of them just to let off some steam. 

Mickey was halfway up the path before he realized that not only was Ian _not_ following his instructions, but he was actively trailing behind him.

“Mickey! Mick- hold the fuck on!” Ian ran after Mickey, grabbing his bicep to turn him around. “Look I didn’t-.” He was not prepared for his apology to get cut short by a violent shove in the chest that knocked him back considerably. 

“Get off me!” Mickey growled.“The hell is wrong with you?!”’

Ian stumbled backward before regaining his balance, and Mickey watched as his features instantly hardened once he realized what had just happened, twisting his lips into a sinister snarl. Before Mickey could brace himself, Ian surged forward, shoving him back just as forcefully. 

“The fuck?!” Mickey flailed, but quickly found his footing, viciously glaring at Ian. 

Ian felt like things had truly gotten away from him. As he was gearing up to apologize for acting unhinged, Mickey reared back and stormed into him like a raging bull. He gathered the collar of Ian’s shirt up in his fist, and knocked into the man with all his might, intent on bringing him to the ground. 

This time, instead of catching himself, Ian lost his balance entirely, grasping at nothing but air on his way down. As it happened, one of the aforementioned lounging chairs managed to break Ian’s fall, although all of the wind was knocked out of him in one heavy gust upon impact. Ian gasped to catch his breath, and it quickly dawned on him that the only thing that could be worse than making a move on the husband of your married client was getting into an honest-to-god _fist fight_ with him. 

When Ian’s eyes finally refocused, he gazed up from where he was splayed out flat on his back, only to see a crimson faced Mickey looming over him, glowering down at him. 

“You ain’t gonna push me around, dipshit. You ain’t gonna walk into my life and pretend you know shit about me. Just because I _let you_ go down on me doesn’t mean you get to act like you’re fuckin’ special.” Mickey leaned in to stab his finger into Ian’s chest, emphasizing his point. Perhaps the action would have been intimidating too, if by the end of his sentence Mickey’s line of sight hadn’t dropped down to Ian’s blushing lips, which were spread open just a hair in surprise. 

Ian’s tongue caught the corner of his mouth, wetting said lips in apprehension. With the mention of the _infamous_ blowjob, there was an instant shift in the atmosphere and Ian sincerely couldn’t tell if he was about to get clobbered or kissed. There was a wildness in Mickey’s eyes, that made it difficult to ascertain which possibility was more likely. 

Mickey was trying to resist, he really was. He knew he would only make himself look even more ridiculous - cussing Ian out for making a move on him, only to turn around and mount him. Mickey’s gaze slid back up over Ian’s face, landing on the swept back, well groomed head of ginger locks, which looked nothing like the goddamn bowl cut Mickey had begun to remember. He recalled that, even at the time, something about the freckled boy had intrigued him. Perhaps that was why he buried the memory so deeply. Before Clyde, Mickey had been _highly motivated_ to suppress his attraction to other boys. That _motivation_ often took the form of the bat Terry would fall asleep clutching, or the 22 gauge shotgun resting on the coffee table. 

Staring up with his eyebrows screwed together in confusion, Ian’s chest rose and fell rapidly, and he looked for all the world like a scared animal, fixing to bolt. Gallaghers. Known amongst the old neighborhood as _runners_ , only staying to fight when backed into a corner. 

Whatever sliver of control Mickey had been feeling over the situation up until now was utterly demolished. He knew all too well things were spiraling and he was powerless to stop them. 

_Maybe_ , said the small treacherous voice lurking in the back of Mickey’s mind, _this doesn’t have to stop_ …

There was a brief moment where neither man so much as blinked or breathed, eyes locked intently, hearts pounding, minds a tangled mess of incoherent desires. 

“ _Fuck…_ ” Ian and Mickey exhaled simultaneously into the space between them, breaking the spell. Neither of them could quite sparse out who initiated the kiss, both seemed to surge forward at the same moment - meeting halfway in between their bodies. The force with which they collided was volatile, but Mickey barely winced when Ian’s fingers gnarled themselves through his hair in a nearly vicious manner, ushering him downward deeper into the maelstrom that was the meeting of their mouths. 

Mickey allowed himself to be pulled into the embrace, until the only available course of action was to climb on top of the man, weighed down by Ian like an anchor. It was either that, or let himself topple over. Mickey made the instantaneous decision to take back some control, tossing one leg over Ian’s lap and hovering above him on his knees - leaving an inch of space between their bodies, just enough to let Mickey keep up the illusion that he was in charge of his actions. 

Planting a hand on either side of Ian’s head and curling his fingers around the lip of the headrest, Mickey proceeded to pour every ounce of his frustration and uncertainty into the vicious lip-lock. He darted his tongue into Ian’s mouth, and gave a broken groan at the way Ian reciprocated in kind, kissing Mickey’s breath away. For all the harsh words Mickey had been spouting, Ian found that his tongue was soft and pliant, and he caressed it with his own to show his appreciation. 

All at once, there was no more thought of consequences; whatever repercussions Mickey had been pontificating about not long ago had all but vanished. It had been stupid of him to think that coming into contact with Ian could have any alternative ending; there was something at work in the universe, and it wasn’t letting either of them off the hook any time soon. In place of his worry, Mickey now felt a deep thrumming ache of _need_. 

And, in that very moment, if asked for his husband’s name Mickey would have most likely drawn a blank. 

In similar fashion, Ian couldn’t seem to hang onto a solid thought as Mickey’s heaving chest levitated over his own - while Mickey’s lips devoured him whole. At first, Ian tried to connect the dots - to figure out how in the fuck he had allowed himself to end up on his ass in a lounge chair, going against every shred of morality left in his body. Maybe the right thing would have been to listen to Mickey and let him walk away - let him live whatever sham of a life he needed to in order to survive. 

But no, that was _impossible_. When Ian looked at Mickey he couldn’t shake the feeling that things were meant to shake out differently. And that was exactly what led him to being straddled by another man’s husband. 

_Fuck that_ , Ian thought rebelliously, as he captured Mickey’s bottom lip between his teeth and gave it a filthy tug. This wasn’t just someone’s else’s husband. This was _Mickey_. Ian wasn’t positive yet exactly what that meant, but he knew he was desperate to find out. 

Mickey tasted exactly how Ian had remembered. This was exactly what he had been fantasizing about all week. Ian cupped Mickey’s head firmly and held him in place, savoring the experience for however long it would last. He felt a rush of electricity zip up his spine as Mickey apparently teased him, slowing the movement of his lips and giving only half licks into Ian's mouth. It was hard to fucking believe this was the same man from earlier; the one who claimed to want nothing to do with him. 

Ian arched his neck, chasing Mickey’s tongue in abject desperation, wanting whatever Mickey was willing to give. He let out an unearthly groan when Mickey continued to playfully pull away, and he extemporaneously slid his hands down the length of Mickey’s body until he reached Mickey’s jean covered ass, grabbing two handfuls. Ian eliminated the gap between them by driving Mickey down against himself, as the space between their bodies had suddenly become too much to bear. Ian kissed Mickey until he couldn’t breathe, and only then did he drop his head back onto the headrest of the lounger to gasp for air, his eyes still closed tightly. 

“ _Jesus_ , you good?” Mickey panted raggedly as he finally surfaced for air as well, letting out a nervous chuckle upon finally catching his breath. His eyes raked over Ian’s flushed features, and the panic Mickey probably _should_ have been feeling was ultimately overshadowed by a sense of pride. Mickey couldn’t for the life of him recall the last time he’d had that overwhelming of an effect on anyone. A cherry blush had broken out on Ian’s cheeks, his breathing shallow and rapid, and Mickey could practically hear his heart jackhammering inside his chest. 

Mickey gasped audibly when he felt Ian’s fingers bear down into the meat of his ass once again, and he instinctually ground his hips down into the man, pressing his palms over each of Ian’s pectorals. 

“Unnngh…” the sound rolled out from between Ian’s lips and Mickey had never felt more powerful or _fuckable_. It all rushed to his head at once, until there was no room for rationality. A clear headed individual may have realized that, despite being alone and out of the immediate view of surrounding neighbors, making out with a man who was decidedly _not_ his husband in his backyard in broad daylight was not the wisest move. 

As riled up as he was, Mickey was sick and fucking tired of caring. Ian felt _good_ , and Mickey’s will to stave off his carnal desires was entirely spent. 

Ian bucked up impatiently, and Mickey exhaled a breathy “ _Ah_!”, as their clothed hard-ons were pressed forcefully together once again. Ian’s eyes were dark with lust, and Mickey knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that things wouldn’t - _couldn’t -_ stop at this. Ian clearly wanted everything, and Mickey wasn’t sure he could bring himself to refuse. 

Reluctantly, Ian peeled his right hand off of Mickey’s ass and left his fingers to migrate to the hem of Mickey’s henley, tugging at the fabric. “You, _uh…_ you wanna take this off?” Ian’s voice was a low rasp, and the uncertainty was palpable. They both knew that once clothing began to come off, it was over. Mickey felt the weight of it. Once he made his decision, there was no going back. 

“Shit… yeah. Okay.” Mickey nodded, straightening up slightly as Ian’s fingers sluggishly pushed his shirt up to the bottom of his ribs, exposing Mickey’s solid midriff. He let Ian inch his digits upward, until Mickey couldn’t stand it anymore. Crossing his arms to grab on to each side of his shirt, Mickey hastily peeled it over his head, ruffling his hair in the process. 

By the time Mickey had successfully removed his shirt, wadding up the expensive fabric into a ball and chucking it carelessly to the side, Ian was wiggling beneath him, working his way out of his own shirt. He struggled slightly with the tight t-shirt, and Mickey heard a few threads breaking and popping as Ian gave the garment a good yank over his head, discarding it just as arbitrarily as Mickey had. 

Mickey didn’t give his brain the chance to fully register what was happening - instead he distracted himself by diving back into a heated kiss the moment Ian’s head cleared the neckline of his shirt. As they kissed, Ian’s hands were back to kneading and groping Mickey’s ass almost instantaneously. Reflexively, Mickey bucked forward, and this time when their bulges made sustained contact, both men growled impatiently into each other’s mouths amidst a sloppy kiss. 

Unbenounced to Mickey, he would look back at that moment as the final straw - the timely death of his last inhibition. _Fuck it,_ Mickey thought. _Fuck everything._

Abruptly, Mickey pulled away from Ian’s lips, leaving a smacking sound echoing in the air. Ian seemed startled out of a trance, and watched as Mickey lifted himself up off of the sturdy lounging chair, dismounting entirely. 

“What are you-,” Any worry or confusion on Ian’s part was sufficiently cleared up when Mickey stepped to the side and began undoing his own belt, indicating to Ian with a few suggestive eye movements that he should follow suit. “Oh, _right_ . I should-,” Ian didn’t have the mental capacity to finish sentences _and_ fumble with his own belt, therefore chose to pursue the latter. He unbuckled his belt and arched his back upward as he slid it through the belt loops of his pants so sharply the air hissed.

Silently, both men removed their jeans as efficiently as possible. When all was said and done, Ian was left listening to his own labored breathing as he feasted his eyes on a mostly nude Mickey - nothing but a pair of red Calvin Klein boxer briefs stopping Ian from viewing the gorgeous cock that lay beneath them. He could see a darkened spot in the fabric where the tip of Mickey’s erection strained against the confining material. Ian hummed appreciatively and gave his own hardness a few squeezes to release some tension. His eyes travelled upward until they rested on Mickey’s fine facial features. The way the sun was positioned in the sky created an actual goddamn _halo_ around the other man’s head, and Ian had to blink several times to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. 

With every second that passed, Ian was less and less willing to believe that this wasn’t fucking _fate_ at work. It was becoming increasingly difficult to resent Mickey, knowing how completely he was trapped. Maybe Ian could be his solution - at the very least he hoped to be. 

“Are we fuckin’ doin’ this or not?” Mickey’s gruff voice broke through Ian’s revere, as Mickey slid his leg over to straddle the chair once more. _Alright_ , Ian thought, _maybe the halo is just a coincidence._

Ian didn’t trust himself to speak, and so he simply sat up on the lounger and reached forward with both hands, worming his pointer fingers into the waistband of Mickey’s briefs and sliding them down. Mickey’s chin dropped to his chest with a grunt when his stiff cock finally emerged, pink and leaking like a motherfucker. Ian helped as best he could, guiding Mickey’s legs up one at a time to step out of the briefs. Ian dropped them straight away, bringing both large hands to rest on Mickey’s muscular thighs, caressing up and down reverentially, unable to focus on anything but Mickey’s bobbing hard-on. 

“ _Fuck_ , _Mickey._..” Ian moaned, and Mickey was struck by how much better he liked his name when Ian was the one saying it. He was also confronted with how unbelievably _gay_ such a thought was, but Mickey supposed given the circumstances, it was par for the course. 

Mickey reached down to tug at Ian’s boxers insistently, and Ian didn’t resist, raising his hips the best he could to aid Mickey in removing them. Mickey watched Ian’s heavy cock slap back against his stomach, and _gulped_. It was _big_. Even bigger than it had been in Mickey’s fantasies. Of course, Mickey had suspected that Ian was _packing_ , simply based on the way his junk looked and felt pressed against him during their last encounter. To see it now, hard as a diamond and practically pulsing before his eyes was an entirely different story. 

“C’mere…” Ian murmured, raising one hand from Mickey’s thigh and reaching up towards his neck. Mickey complied, practically letting himself fall into an open-mouthed kiss. He lowered himself back down over the tops of Ian’s thighs until his full weight was resting on the man beneath him. Mickey’s hands cupped Ian’s jaw in an unintentionally tender fashion, pulling a moan out of the other man. Ian’s lips parted against Mickey’s as he idly wondered how fucking amazing they must have looked - as naked as the day is long, grinding into each other under the beating sun. 

Mickey pressed forward until the full length of his cock slid against Ian’s, and Ian once again grabbed handfuls off Mickey’s now bare ass as they both groaned loudly. Boldly, Ian allowed his finger to stray, slipping between Mickey’s ass cheeks and brushing against his tight hole. 

Mickey jerked back with a shudder, and Ian felt a little panicked. 

“Wait, we never- are you a- do you-“ Ian stumbled over his words until Mickey interjected. 

“I want your cock in me.” Mickey offered bluntly, and as if to prove it he pushed back into Ian’s finger. “You gonna give it to me?” He whispered seductively. 

“ _Mmf_ , fuck yeah I am...” Ian growled, finally triumphant in kicking his boxers off from around his ankles. Ian settled back into the chair as he continued to trail his finger across Mickey’s tight ring of muscle. Suddenly, it hit him that an important ingredient was missing, “Hold on, let me…” With his free hand, Ian felt around for his discarded pants, thankful they hadn’t been kicked out of arm's reach. When he found them, Ian located his old worn out leather wallet, flipping it open one-handed. 

Inside of the billfold, he retrieved the single packet of lube he had been carrying around since dinosaurs roamed the earth. Ian always forgot it was there, or had other lube to use, but now he was beyond thankful that he had ever thought to stash some in his wallet in the first place. If Ian could have predicted the future, he would have brought at least a condom, but he never would have thought that he would actually find himself in his current position. 

And if he was honest with himself, Ian could have fucking cared less about using protection in that moment. He knew it was reckless and dangerous - shit, this whole thing was _reckless_ and _dangerous_. But as he expertly tore at the plastic corner of the lube packet away with his teeth and glanced up at the nude man straddling his lap, Ian knew he wanted to feel every fucking inch of Mickey without a barrier in between - damn the consequences. 

“We don’t got all day man,” Mickey warned, in a husky tone that betrayed that he wanted it just as badly, and Ian’s cock twitched at the sound. 

“Jeez, alright. You’re a fuckin’ bossy bottom, huh?” Ian teased and flinched reflexively when Mickey raised a hand. Instead of violence, Ian was surprised to find that Mickey’s calloused hand was gentle as he crooked a finger under Ian’s chin to tilt his head upward. Mickey moved in closer, suctioning his mouth just under Ian’s pronounced jaw line, biting and sucking his way upward until his lips brushed against the redhead’s ear.

“The sooner you get me ready, the more time I can spend riding this massive thing,” Mickey whispered, sultry and alluring, a total 180 from the man who had greeted Ian at the back gate. He punctuated his words by snaking a hand down between them, taking Ian’s cock in his hand and squeezing, astonished by how he was barely able to wrap his fingers all the way around it.

Ian let out a disgracefully soft whimper, but he couldn’t seem to hold it back. His hands shook as he held them behind Mickey’s back, squeezing a good amount of lube onto his fingertips. He brought his hand back down to ghost over Mickey’s puckered hole, before pressing two digits into the tight ring, unwilling to start Mickey off with only one. The filthiest parts of him wished he could watch his fingers as they slid into Mickey, but then he supposed he would have missed out on watching Mickey’s nose wrinkle and his teeth clench in pleasure as he accepted Ian’s slippery digits slowly but surely. 

Ian freed up his other hand by dropping the packet of lube down into his hip bone, bringing his palm back to knead Mickey’s ass cheek, pulling the flesh back, spreading him wider. Mickey’s skin was soft even as it stretched over his taut muscles, and Ian wondered how many people had been fortunate enough to see Mickey like this - the smoothness that lay beneath the inhospitable exterior. 

Mickey grunted as Ian's fingers slowly sunk into him, and the usual satisfying ache was soon replaced by indescribable pleasure. Ian only gave him seconds to adjust, and then he began to retract his fingers slowly, before pushing them in and out of Mickey’s hole at a consistent tempo. 

Bowing forward, Mickey grazed his teeth down the slender line of Ian’s pale neck and sucked diligently at the flesh each time Ian’s fingers twisted and pulled. He soon matched the pattern Ian had set, rocking with purpose into each thrust.

“ _Fuck_ …” Ian spurred on Mickey’s movements by wrapping his large hand around his hip, pulling him down faster and grinding up against him as he innocuously slipped in a third finger. Mickey was sure acting like he was ready to go, but Ian didn’t want to hurt him, that thought was clear in his mind. He had seen the way Mickey looked at his exposed cock when he’d finally seen Ian naked and his surprise definitely stroked Ian’s ego, but he was aware that not every guy could handle all of him the first time. 

“ _Jesus_ , enough. You tryna dig for buried treasure, Long John Silver?” Mickey snapped impetuously. The desire to feel full was gnawing away at him, and Ian’s fingers just weren’t going to cut it, not when he kept catching sight of the fucking python between Ian’s thighs. He reached back and gripped Ian’s wrist, slipping the man’s long fingers out of his ass. “I’m fucking ready, man. Just throw it in me already.” 

Mickey didn’t wait for Ian to move. Instead, he plucked the packet of lube from Ian’s hip and took hold of Ian’s hard length in his other hand. Mickey cleared his throat, trying to brush off how intimidated he was by the sheer girth of Ian’s cock. He got to work, pouring the remainder of the lube out onto Ian’s tip and stroking vigorously several times, spreading the liquid down the shaft. 

Ian’s hand flew to his face and he spontaneously gathered the flesh on the back of his hand between his teeth, biting down to muffle his deep groans. He had never seen something so tantalizing, and he thought that it might fucking do him in. 

Mickey switched up his grip slightly in order to inch forward, lifting up on his knees until Ian’s throbbing tip pressed against his hole. Mickey gulped, feeling a bit like he was standing on the edge of a cliff without a parachute. 

Biting down hard on the inside of his cheek, Mickey dropped a bit of his weight, feeling Ian begin to enter him. He sank down onto the first few inches, taking his time, but never backing off. Mickey closed his eyes and let out a small moan as he lowered himself, until he came to the realization that he had to let go of Ian’s cock if he wanted to fit the whole thing in. He had been clinging to it like a lifeline, and as dumb as it was, letting go felt like loosing his mooring. Mickey took a deep breath and uncurled his fingers, plunging down on the rest of Ian’s cock, taking him to the hilt. 

Ian was practically seeing stars. Mickey hole was stretched taut around him, leaving the entire length of his cock feeling constricted in the best of ways. Once Mickey had finally accommodated all of Ian and was seated back on Ian’s thighs, Ian groaned and exhaled the breath he’d been holding in, sliding one of his hands over Mickey’s pecs. “Fuck, you feel so good.” He murmured and looked up into Mickey's half hooded eyes. 

Mickey let out a hitched moan in response. All his words were gone. There wasn’t a sensible explanation for what he was doing, and he was no longer trying to come up with one. In fact, because of the danger of the situation, Mickey couldn’t help but find the whole thing all that much more erotic. Ian’s hand ghosted over Mickey’s chest, thumbing at his nipples as he passed, breaking the spell. 

“Move, _please…_ ” Mickey begged, unable to keep his vulnerability in check. Ian responded by bucking his hips upward, and Mickey’s head lolled forward at the force of it, both men groaning loudly. 

“Kinda _your_ job right now - _shit -_ dontcha think?” Ian half joked, but the words were barely out of his mouth before Mickey began rocking once again, lifting himself up and down Ian’s thick shaft, setting a slow but purposeful pace. He hadn’t been this stretched out in _years_ , and the prep had done nothing for the burn. Not that Mickey was complaining - it felt like some otherworldly type of amazing, as he pulled himself up on his knees until the tip of Ian’s cock began to surface, and then slowly slid back down. 

Ian once again looked absolutely beside himself, struggling to keep his eyes open. His head was pressed firmly to the headrest of the chair, and every time Mickey would bounce upward, Ian’s torso and hips would arch up with him, trying to minimize the distance between them yet again. Mickey’s mouth curled into a satisfied grin, as he steadily quickened the pace, slamming down harshly into Ian’s lap. Mickey let a broken cry escape him when Ian’s cock finally made contact with his prostate - at the _perfect_ angle. 

Ian didn’t know where to look, and he definitely didn’t know where to put his hands. There was too much he wanted to see, so much he wanted to touch, and Mickey was overwhelming all of his senses. Ian, being the born and bred top that he was, didn’t typically find himself in sexual situations where he wasn’t the one calling the shots. Mickey was like a fucking force of nature, asserting total control in the way he was riding with animalistic abandon. Whatever steadiness Mickey had started out with had been quickly overshadowed by a need for roughness, _hardness_. 

Ian broke his gaze away from Mickey’s face for long enough to watch Mickey’s swollen cock bouncing between them, pooling precum just below Ian’s navel. Almost instinctively, Ian reached down to grasp Mickey’s flailing shaft, spreading the precum in slow circles around the flushed head with his fingertips.

Mickey’s eyes were shut tightly, deep groans ripping through his chest and out of his mouth. Ian watched, enraptured, as Mickey drove himself down again and again. Ian wanted to suspend the moment in time and keep Mickey just like this. He looked _free_. And Ian had never been more convinced that Mickey’s douchebag of a husband didn’t fucking deserve him. 

Ian needed Mickey’s lips on him, like, _yesterday_. He reluctantly removed his hand from around Mickey’s cock, and before Mickey could protest, Ian’s fingers were parting the shorter hairs on the back of his head, dragging Mickey down into another heedless kiss. Ian’s tongue roughly parted Mickey’s lips as he dug the blunt nails of his other hand into the meat of Mickey’s ass cheek, aiding him in his ride. Their mouths worked together in an uncoordinated sequence, sucking and biting at each other's lips, and Ian could only hope that Mickey would pick up on every unspoken word he was trying to convey.

Every time Mickey dropped down, Ian’s formidable cock filled him completely, pummeling Mickey’s prostate like it owed lunch money. Mickey was thankful that Ian’s hot mouth was covering his, swallowing up the whimpers that were queuing in his throat and breaking free one by one. Ian already seemed smugly self aware of his god-given _talents,_ and Mickey didn’t want to add more fuel to the fire, regardless of how well deserved it was. But, it really was magnificent. So fucking good, in fact, that Mickey could feel himself approaching the edge already. He decided he needed a minute, or else he wasn’t going to last much longer. 

Ian was initially caught by surprise as Mickey’s toned body began to slow, until he finally came to a rest against Ian’s thighs. At the same time, Mickey broke away from Ian’s lips, sucking air back into his lungs and trying to regain control over his labored breathing. Mickey pressed their foreheads together, and Ian could feel the sweat dripping down his brow and Mickey’s warm breathing surging over him. 

Resting their foreheads together somehow seemed like the most intimate moment they’d shared yet, despite the fact that Ian could literally feel himself buried balls deep inside of Mickey. Ian peered up into Mickey’s light blue eyes, and suddenly understood every dumb love poem that had ever said some shit about _getting lost in your lover’s gaze._

“God, this fucking _dick…_ ” Mickey mumbled drunkenly, giving in to his urge to praise Ian. His eyes darted to the side, feeling far too exposed while maintaining eye contact. “Gonna cum soon, if ‘m not careful with this thing.” Mickey wriggled his hips. 

A wicked smirk spread across Ian’s face, and he slid his large hand from Mickey’s hair down toward his face pressing his thumb and forefinger into either side of Mickey’s jawline. 

“Don’t be careful,” Ian hissed against Mickey’s parted lips. He hauled back for a sharp and satisfying slap of Mickey’s ass cheek, undoubtedly reddening the skin, but not nearly hard enough to leave a handprint. “Want you to cum all over my cock, Mick _fuck_ , it’s all I fucking want.” Ian groaned. 

Incidentally, that was all the provocation Mickey needed. He clamped his hands down on Ian’s shoulders and started to pick up his speed again, rolling his hips in tight circles aiming for his own prostate with each bounce. Mickey felt like he entered zero gravity the moment Ian sat up against him, changing the angle of Mickey’s thrusts and compressing their chests together until there was not a particle of empty space between them. If Mickey had thought he was hitting the perfect spot before, he was sadly mistaken. 

“ _God_ , yeah! Right there!” Mickey let out a guttural cry. The novel position somehow pushed Ian deeper.   
  


[ ](https://ibb.co/17tnctX)  
  


Ian surged towards Mickey’s mouth, but he stopped short, until their lips were barely able to graze against one another. “Shit, _fuck,_ I’m close.” Ian gasped. 

“Then lemme fuckin’ get you there...” Mickey grunted placing his palms flat against Ian’s chest, unceremoniously shoving him onto his back. 

Ian found the air once again driven from his lungs, and, honestly, he _loved_ it. For all the ways Mickey had tried to eradicate his past - Mickey fucked like a southsider. Good and hard, holding nothing back. It was easily the best fuck of Ian’s life, no contest. 

“How ‘bout I get myself there while you just watch?” Ian gripped Mickey’s hip bones like a vice, and Mickey was sure he would have rolled his eyes, had they not already rotated halfway to the back of his skull once Ian began aggressively pistoning up into him. Mickey’s head tipped back and his spine curved outward as he lost control of his faculties. 

“ _Jee-_ susssss!” Mickey stuttered, holding on for dear life as Ian jackhammered into him, spanking his ass yet again, just for the hell of it.

The brutal rhythm of Ian’s thrusts start to break apart as his balls drew up, his orgasm fast approaching. Ian was hitting the perfect stride against Mickey’s prostate and Mickey could only hold off for so long. 

" _Fuckkkk_!” Mickey slurred curse, leveraging himself on Ian’s chest, matching his pace. 

As it happened, the cacophony of stilted moans was somehow loud enough to drown out the sound of the pool lounger underneath them creaking under extreme fatigue. Both men were far too busy to notice the entire chair shaking under their weight, even as the legs were buckling and bending out of shape. 

Ian was in the middle of what felt like out-of-body experience, contemplating how anything on earth could possibly feel so good, when all of a sudden there were a series of suspicious snaps as all four stout legs of the chair gave way. Ian let out an undignified yelp as the chair-back dropped out from under them, landing them on the pathetic remains of the once stable lounging chair. 

“Dont- _fucking_ -stop.” Mickey heaved, barely able to string words together as he kept riding Ian’s cock without a pause. With a smack to his arm from Mickey, Ian came back to his senses. 

“You’re fucking _insane_ ,” Ian actually found himself laughing, but the snickers quickly turned to groans as he clasped Mickey’s asscheeks in both hands, holding him open as he fucked up into Mickey. “Shit! SHIT! I’m right there, Mick!” He whined. Mickey immediately grabbed at his own cock stroking in time as he rode.

The full impact of Ian’s orgasm hit him all at once, and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to lose consciousness as each stroke delivered load after load of hot cum into Mickey’s used hole. 

“Keep going. Keep going.” Mickey urged, and Ian complied. When Mickey was ready to cum a moment later, he pounced off of Ian’s shaft, feeling it dislodge itself, and kneeled next to Ian. He frantically jerked himself off over Ian’s cock, which had fallen back onto his stomach, laying slightly curved and very much spent.

After all, Ian _had_ said that all he wanted was for Mickey to cum all over his cock. _Guess you get what you wish for,_ Mickey thought slyly. Weakly, Ian’s hand came to rest on Mickey’s leg, rubbing circles on the man’s thigh with his thumb. 

This small gesture was the last straw for Mickey. “ _Ian_!” Mickey clamped down on Ian’s wrist, keeping the hand there as he shook through an explosive orgasm. Mickey’s cum shot out over Ian’s groin, painting his cock and the better part of his happy trail with the slippery mess. With a final shudder, Mickey panted heavily as he fell down beside Ian, landing partially on the destroyed carcass of the lounge chair.

Both men panted uncontrollably for several minutes, but soon the sound of their combined breathing faded, as the blood surged back towards their brains. 

“Damn. That was one hell of a work out.” Mickey exhaled, breaking the silence. 

“We broke the chair…” Ian responded, and then let out a sound that was too close to a giggle for comfort. “We _broke_ the fucking chair, Mickey.” He turned his head to look at Mickey, resting his chin on his own shoulder. Mickey took one look at Ian’s face and snorted at the ridiculous look he sported - an impossibly wide grin and his once neat copper hair slicked up wildly with sweat. 

“Yep. That’s bad.” Mickey grunted as he picked himself up and glanced around at the remains of the poor piece of furniture caught in the crossfire. “There’s not enough duct tape in Chicago to fix this shit.” 

Ian sat up and hung his head, shoulders shaking with genuine laughter. “There’s not enough duct tape in the fucking _world,_ Mickey.” 

  
  
  


In spite of the deeply personal experience they had just shared, both Ian and Mickey found the clean up rather awkward, to say the least. Once they had both removed themselves from the lounger debris and had taken turns splashing themselves with clean water from Ian’s trusty water bottle, Mickey silently gathered up his clothes. As he dressed, he stared plaintively at the broken chair, feeling that familiar panic that swelled in his chest after the laughter had died down. 

_What the fuck have I done_ , Mickey pulled his shirt down over his head and torso, stopping to push the stray strands of hair away from his forehead and knead the heals of his palms deep into his eye sockets. Not only had he gone and done the one thing he had specifically set out _not_ to do, but he broke shit in the process, leaving _evidence_ in the wake of their illicit rendezvous. 

_Gotta be more careful next time,_ Mickey immediately froze in his tracks as the thought passed through his mind. _Next time_. He had gone from telling Ian to never come near him again, to thinking about _next time_ . Mickey turned towards Ian to find him staring back at Mickey unabashedly while in the process of buttoning up his jeans. Mickey stepped into his shoes and tried to ignore the squirming in his guts - he had _butterflies_ , like some fucking preteen with their first crush. 

By the time Ian had slipped back into his socks and shoes and was straightening out his t-shirt, he saw that Mickey was approaching him again, looking guarded, taking a few tentative steps in his direction before stopping a few feet away. His eyes were shifting around wildly, attempting to focus on anything but Ian, and Ian couldn’t very well blame him. Even after their explosive argument and even more explosive fucking session, Ian found sympathy for Mickey’s situation. Clyde may very well be a judgmental, horrendous prick, but Mickey had just gone and fucked another man in the backyard of the home they shared. Ian didn’t know how to feel about it all, and decided that he would have to unpack the moral ramifications of their little tryst later. He still had a pool to clean. 

Mickey finally managed to look Ian in the eye, and the man looked so at a loss for words, Ian took pity on him and spoke first.

“So that was…” Ian trailed off, realizing that he also didn’t exactly have the vocabulary to describe what they both just had experienced. It was hot and nasty and fantastic - and fucking _wrong,_ probably. 

“Yeah,” Mickey responded simply. Another silence set in between the men and Mickey begged his heart to stop racing like a heart attack was imminent. 

Ian scratched the back of his head and tried again. “Look, about all that shit I said before-”

“Nah, man.” Mickey interrupted, and Ian was catching on that he had a habit of doing that. “Don’t worry about it. It doesn’t matter.” 

Ian took a step closer. “Let me fuckin’ finish my sentence for once, alright?” Mickey sighed and nodded, too tired mentally and physically to put up any more of a fight. 

“What just happened was the single best fuck I’ve had in… well, in a long ass time.” Ian confessed. “But, it wasn’t my business to say that shit I said about your life. I dunno… I just have a thing about entitled assholes who don’t know how lucky they are.” 

Mickey didn’t flinch at the dig. As much as he didn’t want to, he understood. He had hated wealthy people too, up until he became one. 

“I guess my point is,” Ian continued in earnest. “If you want this to be over, it’s over. I’ll finish up with the pool today and get my boss to switch me over to another client when I leave. If you don’t wanna see me again, I can make it happen.” Every word sent a sharp pain through Ian’s chest, but he knew it had to be done. 

Mickey’s eyes widened. Ian was graciously giving him a way out. Mickey realized it was more than he could have asked for, more than he _deserved_. He knew he should accept Ian’s offer, tell him to have a nice life, and go back to the boring but safe existence he had carved out for himself. 

The more Mickey thought about it, the clearer it became that just saying goodbye was _impossible_. Ian had stolen a fucking _piece_ of him, and nothing would ever be the same. 

Mickey didn’t _want_ it to be. 

“Don’t.” Mickey choked out. He wanted to say more, but his tongue felt like lead, and his thoughts were racing too fast to string them into coherent sentences. He watched as Ian’s eyes softened and a small smile tugged at the corner of the redhead’s lips. Mickey let out a breath, pleased that he didn’t need to say more. Ian just _understood_. 

“Listen, I, uh… I gotta split,” Mickey explained, thumbing in the direction of the house. “I’ve got shit to do inside, and the maid is gonna be back soon. Plus I gotta figure out what the hell I’m gonna do with-” Mickey glanced down at the decimated lounge chair, “- _that_ before he gets home tonight.” Mickey couldn’t bring himself to say his husband's name, like it was cursed or something. 

“Yeah sure, okay.” Ian nodded, gathering up the sample of pool water he had dropped earlier in his haste. “I’ll just let myself out when I’m done.” 

Mickey gave a half nod, and began to turn back towards the house. He wasn’t sure how to properly make an exit after what he and Ian had just been through together, and so he figured it was best to just leave, without trying to make a thing of it. 

“Wait!” Ian was calling Mickey back before he even had a chance to walk away. “You got a phone?” 

Mickey face screwed up at the strange question as he looked back at Ian, patting his pockets until he found his phone in his back pocket and pulled it out. 

Ian cupped his hands in front of him. “Toss it to me, I’ll give you my number.” 

Mickey felt the squirming butterflies inside of himself again, but this time he didn’t want to punch himself in the stomach until it stopped. Unlocking the phone with his thumbprint, Mickey took a step forward and lobbed the phone over the short distance, which would have been an idiotic move if Ian hadn’t caught it so smoothly. 

Ian navigated through the apps and typed quickly, setting himself up as new contact. Mickey cracked his knuckles as he waited, and eventually, Ian took a few steps forward and threw the phone back. 

Mickey’s phone landed in his open palm, and he couldn’t help but look down at the new contact, specifically the name associated with the number. 

“P.B.?” Mickey raised an eyebrow. 

“Poolboy,” Ian responded cooly, smiling too widely for his own good. “Text me whenever. Or don’t. It’s up to you.” And with that, Ian turned his attention back to the pool, busying himself by unscrewing the bottle of algaecide. 

Mickey stayed in place for another beat, before remembering that not only did he have legs, but - theoretically - he knew how to use them. As he made his way towards the veranda, the soreness in his muscles began to set in, and Mickey gave himself a moment to feel the satisfying strain of a good fuck. He couldn’t stop staring at his phone, at the little icon that read “ _P.B.”_

Mickey allowed himself ten seconds to exist in that pleasant little microcosm - a place with no Clyde, no infidelity. Just _Ian_. 

And Mickey knew one thing for certain - whatever happened next - things were _far_ from fucking _over_. 


	7. ...Boom, fate.

[ ](https://ibb.co/GpjCF01)

Three days. 

That’s how long it had been since Saturday. Or as Ian had come to refer to it, _the day that would live on in infamy._

Although Ian had managed to lower his expectations so as not to be disappointed, he had held on to some stupid little hope that Mickey would have broken down and texted him as soon as he left the property. Of course, that didn’t happen. 

Mickey may have seemed to some a hard person to get an accurate read on, but Ian saw through it without much difficulty at all. That was precisely why Ian was certain that Mickey _would_ text. He wasn’t certain about much else, but after their last encounter, Ian had at least one truth straight in his mind - whatever crazy pull existed between them, Mickey felt it too. 

As mortifying as it was, Ian had been watching his phone like a hawk. Every time he heard it buzz against a countertop or felt it vibrate against his leg, he scrambled like a madman to check it. So far, the only notifications Ian had gotten had either been a text from one of his siblings or a reminder to take his meds. No Mickey. And it was fucking depressing. 

On Tuesday, Ian was starting to get _really_ antsy. Once again, he found himself thankful that nobody else could see inside of his head, because they would have long since run away screaming. On several occasions, Ian had tried to convince himself that it was actually much better for them both if Mickey _didn’t_ text. 

Maybe, just maybe, Mickey had circled back to thinking that cheating on his husband _had_ been a mistake, and had promptly deleted Ian’s number. Then, there really wouldn’t be a chance that Ian would ever see him again. After those first two cleanings, Ian’s contract specifically stated that he would only return to the property in question if follow-ups were requested by the owner. Fat chance of that happening if Mickey decided to lose his number for good. Short of casing the property, breaking in when no one was home, and hiding in the closets, Mickey would be lost to him permanently. As devastating as that alternative was, Ian knew that in a matter of weeks or months he could probably pick himself up again and move the fuck on like he always did. _Maybe_. 

Either way, Ian knew he somehow had to stop obsessing about the whole situation. Even as a child, once Ian Gallagher got something in his head, there was no man or beast who could dissuade him. _Perseverance_ , his teachers used to write on his report cards in grade school. _Ian sticks with it, no matter what_. Any sort of praise from an authority figure was as rare and precious as gold, and so Fiona always made sure he knew she was proud by letting him have control over the tv remote for an hour, or sneaking him a few dollars from the squirrel fund when no one was looking. Now, as an adult, it didn’t go unnoticed by Ian that the very quality that had at one point been subject to high praise was just as quickly reduced to a feature of his diagnosis.

As per usual, Ian eventually decided to do what he’s always done when shit becomes too much for him to handle on his own. The minute Ian arrived back at the station for his lunch break that day he pulled out his phone and typed out a quick text to Lip. 

Ian (12:37): _Hey, I’m on lunch. You free?_

Ian immediately put the phone down, resisting the urge to check and see if he had any new messages for the fortieth time that day. He rummaged through his locker, looking for nothing in particular. Two minutes later, Lip’s name lit up his screen.

Lip (12:39): _At the shop, but I could use a break._

The motorcycle repair shop Lip worked at was only a few blocks away from the station, and Ian grinned to himself as he remembered the Taco Truck that always parked in the same spot along the way. Ian typed back. 

Ian (12:40): _Be there in a few. Tacos on me._

Ian closed his locker and laughed out loud when he saw that Lip had instantly responded with two emojis: a moaning face and three _‘water’_ droplets (😩💦).

“Dumbass,” Ian chuckled under his breath, and as predicted, he already felt a tiny bit better.

*

Clutching a steaming bag of freshly assembled tacos, Ian ducked under the half closed garage doors. His senses were instantly assaulted by the smells of motor oil, exhaust fumes and sweat - a combination that he wasn’t particularly that fond of. Ian didn’t frequently visit the bike shop, but lately, since his work schedule had rotated into a month or so of midday shifts, he had been visiting Lip on his lunch breaks every once and awhile, just to catch up on one another’s busy lives. 

Ian was often confined to his own world, in his apartment a few miles away from Lip’s first family home, and if he was being honest with himself, he just plain missed his big brother. Lip had been the second Gallagher sibling to fly the coop after Fiona, and between his job, AA meetings, and parenting his newborn son, he and Ian didn’t often just get to goof off or shoot the shit like old times. 

The lunchtime meet ups were beginning to make Ian nostalgic for how things used to be - back before adulthood had taken them both by the balls. Being only a year apart in age, he and Lip had grown up as a dynamic duo. They did most things together and always had each other’s backs when things got dicey - which they often did in their neighborhood. Fiona may have been the head of their household, but Lip was the one Ian turned to when he needed help, advice, or someone to vent to. Lip had been the first person he’d come out to, which was a privilege not to be taken lightly on the Southside of Chicago. 

Naturally, if Ian was to trust anybody with the ‘ _Mickey Situation_ ’, it would be Lip. 

Ian gave a sheepish wave to the intimidatingly butch woman behind the reception counter or whatever it was. He relaxed upon seeing his older brother, standing with his arms folded across his chest, appraising the bike he was clearly in the middle of working on. 

“Brad pays you to just stand around like that?” Ian quipped as he approached Lip’s work space. Lip broke out of his trance and turned towards Ian, shaking his head and smirking. 

“I dunno. The station pays you to take extra long lunches and harass your brother?” Lip countered as Ian came to stand beside him, swinging the taco bag at his side. 

“I’m working a 14 hour shift today, dickhead. I’m taking as long as I want for lunch,” Ian bumped against Lip’s shoulder. He hadn’t seen Lip in a few days, so he was a little taken aback by how rough his brother looked - heavy bags weighed down his bloodshot eyes, and it didn’t help that he had several grease smears peppering his face, making him look even more unhinged. “Has anyone told you that you look like shit yet today?” Ian questioned. 

Lip’s smirk drooped into a scowl and he shoved Ian’s shoulder away. “Nah, everyone was politely pretending not to notice until your rude ass came along.” Lip sighed and thumbed as his nose, only succeeding in leaving yet another smudge of grease in his wake. “Freddie’s got a few new teeth coming in and he’s not thrilled about it. He screams all the fuckin’ time. Tami and I have been _‘taking turns’_ staying up with him all night. Been my turn for three nights now.” 

“Shit. That sounds like hell.” Ian cast a sympathetic gaze at Lip. He suddenly felt a little selfish for bringing his problems to lay at Lips feet when he already appeared to have so much piled on his plate. 

Lip shrugged and gestured towards the bag of food in Ian’s grasp. “It is what it is dude. Nothing a few artery clogging tacos can’t fix.” Lip wiped his hands on the equally filthy rag he had pulled from his back pocket and glanced over his shoulder at Brad’s workstation, a few feet away. “I’ll be back in 30!” 

Brad was busy changing a tire, so didn’t even look back at Lip when he hollered back, “Whatever, man. What the hell, take 45!” 

Lip chuckled and dropped the rag beside the bike, motioning for Ian to follow him towards the back exit of the shop. “Get over here, and bring that tasty shit with you.” 

*

“So… you gonna tell me what the fuck you got on your neck?” Lip asks, through a large mouthful of taco. 

Out behind the shop, Lip had jostled the ancient soda machine hard enough that it had spit out two free cokes for the brothers. They then planted themselves on either side of the only rotting picnic bench in the otherwise barren lot to enjoy their feast. 

“Whaddya mean?” Ian asked, his mouth equally as full. He swatted at the area Lip was staring at, assuming there was a mosquito or something else benign. 

“Seriously?” Lip chuckled, wiping the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand. “You got, uh… they kinda look like hickeys.” He wrinkled his nose. “The hell have you been up to lately, huh?” 

Ian’s face flushed and he shook his head. “No I fuckin’ _don't_.” He said disbelievingly as he practically threw down his rapidly unraveling taco into the foil wrapper and pulled out his phone from his back pocket to check. Sure enough, there they were, plain as day from the viewpoint of his front facing camera, two small fading marks on his neck from where Mickey had attached himself like a fucking blood thirsty pihrana. Ian wasn’t sure how the hell he had missed something so obvious, and yet he had. 

“Um _yeah_ . You do. What, you think I’m an idiot? I know what hickeys look like. And that’s a fucking _hickey_.” Lip gave his younger brother an expectant look, reaching out to grab a hold of Ian’s face and snickering when his hand was slapped away. “Look, at least one of us is getting some action right now. So? You gonna spit it out, or what?” 

“I- well, I… _shit_.” Ian got one last good look at the marks and groaned to himself upon realizing that he’d been walking around with them for days in front of his boss, his co-workers and even the little old lady at the corner store. “That’s kinda what I wanted to talk to you about. So, there’s this guy… at work...” Ian placed his phone down and picked up the mess that was the remainder of his first taco. It was technically true. He didn't really know how else to phrase it in a way that wouldn’t sound as fucked up as it probably was. “I guess I can say we’re banging, since we actually did bang this time.” 

Lip’s face contorted, trying to wrap his head around his brother’s babbling. “They hired another gay EMT? Thought the limit was one per station or something.” He joked. 

“Other job.” Ian mumbled curtly behind a napkin as he wiped his mouth. He took a sip of his coke and then started into his second taco, surreptitiously avoiding eye contact with Lip, positive that there would be follow up questions. 

Lip had just brought the taco up to his mouth, when he caught on to what Ian had actually said. “Wait… hold the fuck up!” Slowly, Lip lowered the food away from his face. “One of the other pool cleaners? Or…” Lip’s eyes widened to twice their size. “No fuckin way… please tell me you didn’t-“ 

“He’s married.” Ian admitted hurriedly, and then rushed to explain himself. “But wait, just hear me out. He-” 

“Jesus Christ- a _client_ , Ian?!” Lip exclaimed, although his tone was less judgemental and more genuinely surprised. The thing was, Ian had made some questionable relationship decisions over the years. Not that Lip really had a leg to stand on in that regard. However, since Ian’s last major breakup, Lip had misguidedly assumed Ian would become more shrewd about who he chose to throw it in. “Another married guy. Really? I thought you were through with being a _‘mistress’._ ”

Ian felt his insides twist up at the mention of the mistakes he had made as a youth. They were painful memories to recall even now, so many years after he had supposedly left them behind. Ian never let on just how much he was affected by that shit - but Lip knew better than anyone how messed up things had gotten. 

“Listen. I _know_ okay. It sounds bad. But, I just… _fuck-_ it all happened so fast. He’s so…” Ian floundered around, searching for the right words. He was rapidly losing his appetite and Lip was looking at him with poorly masked concern. “Well he... and then we just sorta…” Ian dropped his taco and proceeded to mash his hands together, attempting to symbolize how they just seemed to crash into one another, chaotically and without restraint. It was so hard to articulate, mostly because there was no rhyme or reason for what had happened with Mickey.

_Mickey._

Ian blanched, realizing he was already at a loss for words, and he hadn’t even conveyed to Lip the strangest part of the situation. It was a fucking bizarre subject to try and broach. A member of the Milkovich clan - gay, wealthy, _married._ It almost had to be seen to be believed. 

Lip was becoming increasingly troubled by his brother’s behaviour. The more Ian tried to explain himself, the less Lip understood. “Dude, are you on something? You’re making _zero_ sense right now. Just take a breather, and start from the beginning.” 

Ian took a jittery breath, annoyed with himself. “Right. Okay, so…” He wiped his hands on his pant legs and pushed the styro-foam tray containing the remnants of his meal to the side. “I went to this house on the Northside to clean the owner’s pool, business as usual. Then, this guy meets me at the door and… _fuck_ , dude.” Ian shook his head and tried to keep from breaking out into a dreamy smile. “I wanted him right away. I was thinking about him the entire time, and he was just out in the backyard watching me, like he wanted me too. We talked a little and he offered me a smoke. It was a weird vibe the entire time, but it was tense as fuck. Then he randomly invited me in for sweet tea after I was done and… well, that was obviously a move on me after all that staring, right? Like, what the hell was I supposed to think?” 

“But you knew he was married at that point, didn’t you?” Lip questioned. 

“I mean… yeah. He may have mentioned it.” Ian confessed sheepishly. 

Lip gave a few methodical nods, taking it all in, sipping slowly at his drink. After all, who was he to judge the moral fibre of others? Taking the opportunity to pull a cigarette out from where it had been tucked behind his ear, Lip sparked his lighter a few times before it caught. “Right… okay. I’m following you. Keep going.” He murmured around a cloud of smoke, before passing the cigarette to Ian. 

Ian took a healthy drag and passed it back. “So he was making these eyes at me, and it was just the two of us alone in this obnoxiously huge mansion, and it was just pissing me off but also strangely turning me on. I can’t fuckin’ explain it. I just sorta went with it, and then-“ Ian threw his hands up as he shrugged, shrinking back into himself, “I… maybe kinda… sucked his dick.” He bit the inside of his cheek and waited for Lip’s reaction.

Lip nearly choked on a mouthful of smoke. He coughed violently, sounding like he was about to hack up a lung. “The fuck, Ian? Explain to me how exactly you _‘maybe kinda_ ’ suck a dick!” Lip exclaimed, after he had recovered, “‘Cause the way I see it, you either have a dick in your mouth or you don’t.”

“Jesus, yes okay I sucked his dick!” Ian huffed. “But wait - get _this_ \- his fuckin’ _husband_ _came home_ while his cock was halfway down my throat, and we had to get ourselves together and act like nothing was even happening.” 

Lip was thoroughly enraptured by Ian’s sordid tale. “Damn,” he chuckled, “that’s pretty fucked up, dude. But I guess it’s all in a day's work, for a Gallagher. You could’ve gotten your ass beat, you know that?”

Ian snorted at the very concept of Clyde attempting to take him on. “Nah, he’s nothin’ but a pussy. I could handle him blindfolded with one hand tied behind my back. That’s not the point. I haven’t even gotten to the good shit yet.”

“Lemme guess. You went back for seconds?” Lip grabbed his crotch and humped the air suggestively.

“Whatever, man. I _had_ to go back, it’s in my contract. So of course, with my shitty luck, I ran into his jackass husband, _again_ . Then _he_ meets me out back, and comes at me, sayin’ shit like _‘we made a mistake’,_ acting like a total dickhead.” Lip was staring in rapt attention, intrigued by how the story was unfolding. Ian took a breath before continuing. “We argued for a bit, and things got… _physical_.” He winced, rolling his lips into his mouth, remembering the shoving match he had unintentionally instigated. “Anyway, long story short, he rode me on one of those lounge chair thingies until the fuckin’ thing literally broke under us.” 

Running a hand over his close cropped hair, Lip whistled aloud. “Well, _Jesus_. That’s… a lot to take in. So lemme make sure I got this straight - pun intended. You fucked a guys husband - a guy whose pockets are deeper than one of Frank's bullshit conspiracy theories, by the way - on his own property, while he was basically paying you to do it. Oh, and, you destroyed his chair just for shits and giggles.” 

Ian hesitated slightly, thinking about bringing up that they had not broken the chair on purpose. Ultimately, he accepted defeat and nodded in acceptance.

“Sounds fuckin’ complicated. You can’t just find a _single_ guy who’s willing to sleep with you?” Lip squinted suspiciously. “Does this particular guy have some sort of magic cock or something? What’s so special about him?” 

Ian took a deep, shaky breath. It was a valid question. “He’s… he’s just different.” Ian knew then that he had no choice but to come clean, completely. “You remember Mickey, by any chance?” He asked tentatively, even though he knew that there was no way Lip could have forgotten.

“As in _Milkovich_ ?” Lip cocked his head to the side and rolled his eyes, “Are you kidding? That son of a bitch still owes me for, like, 20 different essays and book reports I did for him back in the day. He and those mouth breathing mongoloids he calls brothers used to beat the shit out of me instead of coughing up the dough.” Lip’s scowl turned instantly to a smirk, as a more pleasing memory entered his head. “Plus, Mandy and I used to bang off and on. _Fuck_ , she was a nympho.” He commented fondly, as if Ian hadn’t often been in the same goddamn room when it was happening, usually trying to suffocate himself with a pillow. 

Ian’s lips curled in disgust, but he had to move on. As smart as Lip was, he often had trouble seeing what was right in front of his face, and Ian could tell he had not made the proper connections yet. “Anyway, what I’m trying to get at is… Mickey’s the guy. That I fucked.” Ian paused again, pensively awaiting the blow out he knew was headed his way. 

Lip stared blankly at his younger brother for what may as well have been an eternity, as far as Ian was concerned. It was only when the burning cherry of his cigarette strayed too close to his fingers, that Lip snapped out of it and reacted. 

“ _What_ in the ever loving _fuck, Ian_ !” Lip stubbed the cigarette butt out to punctuate his shock, mashing it into the paint chipped wood of the picnic table. His brain was having a tough time imagining the dirty faced tough-guy he had grown up hearing horror stories about, living the good life. “Mickey _Milkovich_ ! I never woulda pegged him for being gay! Not in a million years. Wasn’t his pops basically a fucking _nazi_ or something? Hold on, it’s gonna take me a minute to come to terms with this shit. You _fucked_ Mickey _Milkovich_ …” Lip paused and crumbled up the paper his tacos had been wrapped in, staring into space. “I’m related to some who _fucked_ Mickey Milkovich.”

Ian opened his mouth to retort, perhaps to point out the hypocrisy of Lip’s thought process, considering he was not the only Gallagher who had gotten hot and heavy with a Milkovich, but Lip’s mind was still reeling with new information. “Wait, wait, wait! Mickey’s _married_ ? Dude, my head is gonna explode. This is too much. Up is down, black is white, Mickey Milkovich is married to some rich dickhead who looked at him and thought, ‘ _yep, that’s the mug I wanna wake up to everyday for the rest of my life, better put a ring on it_ ’.”

“ _Hey_ , lay off!” Ian found himself affronted by the way Lip was speaking about Mickey. Maybe he would have said those same things himself not too long ago, but things were different now. “He’s changed a lot, alright? Like you probably wouldn’t recognize him. I mean, I didn’t know him that well growing up but-”

“Well it seems like you’re _intimately_ acquainted with him now, huh?” Lip cackled at his own dig, and Ian reached out to bat at him in frustration.

“Oh, fuck off! If you were into dick, you would have jumped his bones too. He’s fucking hot, alright?! Like, really, really hot.” Ian’s gaze faded off into the distance just beyond Lip’s head, “I mean, at first seeing him surrounded by all that gold encrusted bullshit had me really pissed off. I wanted to hate him, but I just couldn’t. I get it, actually. He was backed into a corner with his dad and shit, and-” Ian’s tone turned somber, his voice wavering with all of the emotions he had yet to reconcile, “He thinks his husband saved his life or something.” 

Ian sighed heavily and slumped forward, running his fingers fretfully through his ginger curls. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, Lip. All I know is, he’s obviously miserable with that piece of shit, and I really fucking _like_ him. The sex was unbelievable, and we just… _click_ . I’ve been looking to have that with someone for my whole goddamn life, and then I run into him, and it’s like… boom, _fate_.” 

Lip glanced sideways at his distraught little brother for a long while, and Ian could practically see his brain at work, churning in his skull, trying to come up with the right things to say. Finally, Lip settled on a question. “So… where do you go from here then?” 

Ian shrugged and gave a dry, humourless laugh. “Fuck if I know. Guess that’s what I wanted to ask _you_. I mean I gave him my number, but he hasn’t-“ 

As if Ian wasn’t already convinced in the existence of some sort of cosmic predestination, that was the very moment his phone chose to _ding,_ sharply announcing the arrival of a text. 

Ian blinked down at his phone on the picnic table, dumbfounded, sure that he would see either a text from a co-worker asking where the hell he’d run off to, or a reminder from his running app to get all of his steps in for the day. But no, when Ian glanced at the screen, the blood in his veins froze like ice. 

There, front and center, was a text from an unknown number.

(XXX-XXXX) (1:57): _Yo. It’s me._

Ian heard his heart beating like a drum in his own ears, and he must have not moved for a suspicious amount of time, because suddenly Lip was obnoxiously waving a hand in front of his face. 

“Ian? Christ, why’re you being such a fuckin’ _space cadet_ right now - did you even hear what I said?” Lip huffed in exasperation. 

“What?” Ian asked, still staring the phone down like it would come to life and walk away if he looked elsewhere. “Sorry, say it again?” 

“For _fucksake -_ I said, is that _him_ ? Whoever just texted you.” Lip pointed an accusatory finger at Ian’s phone. “‘Cause if it was, that’s fuckin’ _spooky_.” 

Ian nodded slowly, finally peeling his gaze away from the message as the screen faded to black. “Yeah. Yeah I think it is.” Ian was trying not to shake like a chihuahua with all the adrenaline coursing through him. “See what I mean?! I know I should feel like a rat-bastard for sleeping with another guy’s husband, but how am I supposed to carry on like the universe isn’t trying to tell me something when shit like _that_ happens!” 

Lip reached out and snatched Ian’s phone off of the table before Ian had a chance to react. He turned the screen on, eyes roving over the text as Ian cursed at him, trying to grab the phone out of his grasp. 

“‘ _It’s me_?’” Lip laughed heartily, finally letting Ian snatch the phone out of his hand. “Damn, he’s really pulling out all the stops. What a poet. Really has a way with words, doesn’t he-“ 

“Shut your face, Lip” Ian grumbled cantankerously, and then wiggled his eyebrows micheviously. “Trust me, he had quite the fuckin’ mouth on him while he was bouncin’ on my-“ 

Lip’s pointer fingers flew to plug his ears. “Alright! Okay I get the picture. I’m done now.” Lip shuddered, as if purging himself of the mental image. He watched Ian stare blankly at the phone for as long he could stand it, before reaching across the table and nudging Ian’s shoulder once again. “What are you waiting for, man? Answer the text.”

Ian sucked in a sharp breath through his nose. Lip was right. He’d been pining away for this moment to come for three days, and now that Mickey had actually texted him, he felt totally out of his depth. 

Unlocking his phone, Ian re-read the three word text several times over, trying to unlock some hidden meaning. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, until he realized there was really only one response to the text in front of him. 

Ian (2:02): _Mickey?_

Ian didn’t even have time to set his phone back down before the reply came in. 

Mickey (2:02): _Who tf else, bitch?_

Lip snickered, glancing at the messages over Ian’s shoulder. “Yep. That’s Mickey Milkovich. No doubt.”

*

Three days. 

It had taken Mickey three whole days to get the balls to text Ian. 

By the time Ian finished cleaning the pool and Mickey had finally come down from the high of their unbelievably erotic encounter, the anxiety had slowly started to set in. 

He knew he couldn’t deny it any more. Mickey had to come to terms with the fact that he was a _cheater_. For real. No weaseling out of it, or pretending it didn’t count. He had fucked around on his husband, and there was tangible proof - in the form of a busted lounge chair. 

That Saturday evening, while Alice was busy slaving away over the stove in preparation for Clyde’s return, Mickey managed to slip into the backyard undetected and gather the scraps of the chair up into a garbage bag. Once that was done, it was a rather simple matter to haul the bag out of the backyard, down the driveway and inconspicuously stash it amongst the next door neighbors garbage cans, before sneaking back into the house as if nothing had happened. 

Over dinner that night, Mickey endured more painful small talk with his husband as they ate the admittedly delicious meal Alice had prepared. Mickey picked away at his food, and blamed an unsettled stomach when Clyde inquired about his appetite, or lack thereof. 

The truth was, Mickey did feel fucking sick. He couldn’t stop thinking about Ian’s strong hands spreading him wide, and the way Ian’s cock had filled him up so perfectly. Mickey also couldn’t stop reminding himself that Ian’s number was in his phone. Literally all he had to do was send him a text, and Mickey could have that cock - and that indescribable feeling - virtually whenever he wanted, on demand. 

It seemed too fucking good to be true. 

The moment the last bite disappeared from Clyde’s plate, he had excused himself to his study, leaving Alice to collect his dirty plate and utensils. Despite her protestation, Mickey had helped Alice gather up the rest of the dishes and transport them from the dining room to the kitchen. Finally, he thanked her for everything, gathered up some beer bottles from the fridge, and taken his leave.

Mickey spent that night burying himself in paperwork and drinking more beer than he probably should have, trying to ignore the urge to text Ian. Everytime his mind wandered back to Ian, he took another swig, and yet the alcohol was having the opposite of the desired effect. Eventually, Mickey gathered up the paperwork off of the bed in frustration, throwing the stack on the floor, and flopping down face first onto his pillow. 

At some point, Mickey must have drifted into fitful slumber, because when he awoke before the rising of the sun, Clyde was settled down beside him in their king sized bed, fast asleep and snoring loudly. 

*

“Mickey, darling… weren’t there always four loungers around the pool?” 

The next morning, Mickey was passing by Clyde’s study, when he heard his husband ask the question. Backpedaling into the doorway, Mickey could feel his pulse pounding in his fingertips. Clyde was perched in front of the floor to ceiling glass of the patio door, his grey cashmere housecoat wrapped severely around his torso and a large mug of coffee frozen in midair halfway to his lips. 

Clyde turned himself ever so slightly, to give a sideways glance at Mickey in the doorway, but ultimately swiveled back towards his view of the backyard. It was a dreary day and the sky was dense with rain clouds, looking ready to unload themselves on the planet. Mickey was tempted to cross his fingers that it wasn’t a fucking omen of things to come. 

“What?” Mickey tried to level his voice out, and arch his eyebrows in deep confusion, as if he had not heard exactly what his husband said the first time around. He could see Clyde’s eyes trained on him in the reflection of the glass, so he had to make sure not a single micro expression was out of place. 

“The pool loungers.” Clyde said once more, after taking a dragging sip of his coffee. “I seem to recall us having four, but now that I’m looking, it seems like…” Clyde made a show of pointing to each chair and counting under his breath, as if Mickey couldn’t clearly see how many there were, “...there are only three.” 

Mickey pursed his lips, and proceeded to lie through his fucking teeth. “You might need to have your prescription checked,” He leaned casually against the doorframe and shrugged flippantly, “we’ve only ever had three.” 

“How _peculiar_.” Clyde brushed his fingers through the bottom of his beard. He didn’t budge from his spot, but Mickey could see his expression shifting the glass. There was suspicion, confusion, something else Mickey didn’t know how to describe. It was more of a feeling - the distinct sensation that, although Clyde didn’t have him figured out just yet, it wouldn’t stop him from trying.

The thought chilled Mickey straight to the bone, and so he focused on being his most convincing. 

“So you think someone… what? Hopped the fence and jacked a pool lounger from us?” Mickey snickered to add to the ridiculousness of the statement. “In this neighborhood? I mean, _come on_.” 

Clyde finally turned, leveling Mickey with an incredulous gaze. “Of course not. Don’t be absurd. I just thought-“ 

“ _I_ think you’ve been working too hard, _dear_ ,” Mickey stated forcefully, trying to keep his skin from crawling at his own words. “Scraping plaque and staring at x-rays of the insides of people’s mouths all day is starting to fuck with your brain.” 

Clyde’s eyes softened slightly. This was the closest Mickey had come to showing him affection in _weeks_. 

Stretching out his hand, Mickey watched Clyde stare at it. “Come on, lemme give you a break before work,” Mickey quirked his eyebrow suggestively, and he thought Clyde would break a hip with how quickly he scrambled over to take his offered hand. 

Mickey felt a lump in his throat as he pulled his husband away to their bedroom. He couldn’t give Clyde anymore reason to be suspicious. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and Mickey was no stranger to pulling himself up by his bootstraps and doing what had to be done. 

*

On Tuesday, Mickey finally broke down and sent Ian a text. 

Clyde had left for his dental office first thing in the morning, without even bothering to disturb Mickey, so he had rolled out of bed around noon and stumbled down towards the kitchen for his coffee. He was barely awake enough to murmur a thank you to the weekday maid when she placed his breakfast in front of him - a plain bagel with peanut butter, and a heap of bacon, _his usual._

Once he was awake enough to feel like a human again, Mickey hooked Mimsy and Baxter up to their retracting leashes, laced up his running shoes and took them out for a walk. The dogs trotted along excitedly, and Mickey tried to take deep calming breaths of the fresh air. 

The phone in the pocket of his Adidas sweats smacked against his thigh every time he picked his leg up, making it very difficult to ignore - which completely defeated the purpose of his walk in the first place. 

Not only did the dogs need their exercise, but Mickey knew he needed to make up his fucking mind about whether or not he was going to text Ian. Every time he had decided one way or another over the past few days, Mickey found himself rethinking everything only moments later. It was exhausting, constantly flip flopping like that, and Mickey had had about enough of it. 

As Mickey passed by the other lavish homes on the expansive culdesac, he jammed his free hand into his pocket and retrieved his phone. He unlocked it with a huff and navigated through it until he came to the contact page he had been staring at for days. 

P.B. 

_Ian. Fucking. Gallagher._

Mickey felt the butterflies start swarming again, and immediately told them to fuck off. 

_Text him_ , said the small voice inside of his head, and Mickey still couldn’t tell if it was supposed to be the angel or the devil on his shoulder. _You want to. Do it._

Readjusting his grip on the leashes, Mickey selected the ‘ _new message_ ’ option on the contact page, and clumsily began crafting a text. It was short and to the point, partly because he was typing one handed, but mostly because Mickey couldn’t think of what the hell to say. 

Mickey (1:57): _Yo. It’s me._

Fuck, Mickey knew he sounded like a total freak. Then again, after the way he acted the last time he and Ian had been together, Ian was probably expecting it. Mickey reread the minuscule message about ten times out in his head, until he didn’t fucking take it anymore. Frantically, he pressed _send_ , squeezing his eyes shut as he did, so he wouldn’t have to watch the blue bar travel across the top of the screen at an agonizingly slow rate. 

It took Ian a few minutes to respond. Mickey worried the entire time that he’d be left hanging for hours, days, or possibly forever, waiting for a response. Thankfully, his phone alerted him of a new message, posthaste.

Ian (2:02): _Mickey?_

Mickey turned the corner, leading the dogs away from their home. Both Baxter and Mimsy were used to their walks only lasting one loop of the cul de sac, so when Mickey veered off course, both dogs pulled on their leashes, clearly confused. Mickey hoped that Mimsy would be able to handle a bit of a longer journey - he was gonna need more time away from the house. 

Responding before he could think it through, Mickey only realized afterward that he sent the text back in the same minute Ian’s text had been received. 

Mickey (2:02): _who tf else, bitch?_

He knew he came across like an asshole. Shit, Mickey knew he _was_ an asshole. So he didn’t know why he felt like maybe he had gone too far. This feeling was only reinforced when fifteen minutes later there was still no response. It sparked a bit of uneasiness in Mickey, and his stomach rolled. His fingers flew across the screen, typing out something - anything - to put himself at ease.

Mickey (2:17): _U give ur digits to all the other married guys u bang?_

Nearly back to his house, Mickey slowed his steps down drastically, causing the dogs to pull a little against their collars at the sudden change in pace. With no response from Ian for a solid five minutes, and the dogs circling Mickey’s legs enough to get him tangled in their leashes, Mickey gave up and rounded the corner to go home. “Stupid fucking fuckface.” He grumbled under his breath, kicking a rock on his driveway. _Maybe he just needs another push?_

Mickey (2:22): _u there?_

A hot wave of shame washed over Mickey the moment that the message sent. He hurried inside and let the dogs off of their leashes. Planting himself down on one of the bottom steps of the grand staircase, Mickey stared and stared at the stupid fucking message.

All at once, frustration riled up in Mickey so fiercely that he swiped the message to the left and hit the big red delete option before he could stop himself. 

*

For a blissful moment, Ian really thought the day was looking up. After he and Lip had chucked their garbage in a nearby trash can, Ian tucked his phone away briefly to say a proper thank you and goodbye to his brother. It was a difficult thing to do - Mickey had finally texted him, and he was anxious to keep the ball rolling.

Ian grunted as Lip unexpectedly hooked an arm around his neck and pulled him in for an affectionate hug, slapping his back a few times for good measure. “How do you always get yourself into these situations? Like it’s a serious talent.” Lip commented, sounding amused and awestruck all at once.

“I have no clue, man.” Ian shrugged as he pulled out of the embrace. “But I’ve really outdone myself this time, I think.”

Lip chuckled. “Seems like it.”

“You never told me what you think I should do, just fyi.” Ian pointed out, as he followed Lip towards the back door of the shop. “I came to get your opinion and all you did was mock me for an hour.”

Lip stopped in his tracks, and turned towards Ian, his expression made all the more serious by the exhaustion in his eyes. “I’ve been cheated on. You’ve been cheated on. We both know how much that fuckin’ sucks.” Lip began, and Ian could feel himself start to heat up all over. “Still... I haven’t seen you this hung up on someone in a while, and that’s gotta mean something. Just do me a favor and be careful, alright? Last thing you need is a jealous husband putting a hit out on you or some shit.”

“Got it.” Ian nodded in understanding, a fond smile slowly spreading across his face. “Thanks, man. And by the way, I have Thursday night off. I’ll come over and hang out with my nephew for a few hours so you and Tami can go bang or shower or whatever it is parents do when they have free time.”

“Fuck, that would be amazing,” Lip sagged a little in relief, and then winked mischeviously, “We might even bang _in_ the shower. Ya know, two birds, one stone.”

On his walk back to the station, Ian rustled around in his jacket pocket and located his phone. He pulled it out, his heart picking up pace at the thought of Mickey texting him and waiting for a response. When he looked at the screen, Ian’s eyes immediately went to the huge stack of notifications, several texts and calls from co-workers trying to urgently get a hold of him.

“Shit!” Ian hissed, swiping over the first phone call notification he saw. He jammed the phone up to his ear and lengthened his strides. 

“Where the hell are you, Gallagher?!” One of Ian’s frequent partner’s on the rig, Harper, screamed in his ear when the call connected on the first ring. 

“Took a long lunch, what’s happening?” Ian questioned breathlessly.

“Surprise station inspection, motherfucker!” Harper sounded like she was trying and failing to keep her voice down. “The boss keeps saying if you’re not back in 10 she’s dumping all the shit in your locker onto the sidewalk. Your ass is grass, my friend!” 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Ian hung up without saying a proper goodbye, and began sprinting, nearly bowling headlong into a girl scout’s cookie display as he rounded the corner. He hadn’t even had a chance to see if Mickey had responded, but there was no time for such luxuries. 

Ian had to fucking _move_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed this Ian-centric chapter! <3
> 
> Kudos and comments make us so happy!


	8. Is that a threat or a promise?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW art in this chapter can be found by following the hyperlinks ;) 
> 
> Come check the authors out on social media! 
> 
> Jinlin5: Insta (@gallavich_doodles) // Tumblr (@doodlevich)
> 
> camnoelgallavich: Insta (@cam.monaghanfan) // Twitter (@cam_monaghanfan)
> 
> Enjoy!

[ ](https://ibb.co/r5mVN3L)

When Ian finally trudged back into the station’s locker room later that evening, it took everything in him to tune out the clamouring of his co-workers and focus on dragging his worn-out ass home. The last seven hours of his shift had been much more gruelling than the first seven - something about the closing of a day and setting of the sun always seemed to drag out the worst Chicago had to offer. Ian pitied the night crew, but he was just thankful to finally be able to call it a day. 

Right after he had scrambled back to the station and weaved an elaborate tale about helping a little girl find her runaway dog, Ian managed to convince the head paramedic at the station that he had legitimate reasons for taking a long lunch and not reporting back in time for the station inspection. And no, she had not actually made good on her threat to throw all of the belongings in his locker out onto the street, but Ian didn’t doubt for a minute that she would have if he’d been a minute later. 

From then on, Ian hit the ground running. Calls came flooding in from dispatch, detailing a horrific seven car pile up on I-90, and it was all hands on deck to stabilize the surviving victims. Ian only had enough time to chuck everything on his person into his locker, before he and his rig crew were hauling ass out of the station. 

Ian rested his forehead against the freezing metal of the locker door and let himself close his eyes, resting just for a moment. His job was certainly not for the faint of heart, but he felt privileged to be able to help however he could. 

Ian set his duffle down beside his feet and spun through his locker combination, his stomach growling angrily at him for not filling it since the one and a three quarter tacos he had shared with Lip earlier. He easily foresaw something quick and microwaveable hitting the spot. 

When his locker door creaked open, Ian blinked and would have done a cartoonish double take if he had not been so exhausted. 

Sitting there, next to the three ancient half empty sticks of deodorant he’d been meaning to get rid of, and the Green Bay Packers socks Harper had jokingly gifted him last Christmas just because she knew he hated them, was Ian’s cellphone. He patted down his pockets for a moment, as if his eyes were deceiving him, but of course they weren’t. Ian realized he must have tossed his phone in his locker along with everything else when dispatch had called them into action.

“Oh shit,” Ian huffed, and plucked his phone up hastily. It wasn’t that he had forgotten about Mickey texting him, as much as Ian hadn’t had time to think about anything but his next move, his next step, his next action. Not that he would have been able to carry on a proper conversation anyway, even if he had brought his phone with him. 

Ian’s heart leapt into his throat when the blue light of the phone screen lit up his features, and he looked down at the message Mickey had sent. Or _messages_ , he should say. Both of them. 

Mickey (2:17): _U give ur digits to all the other married guys u bang?_

Mickey (2:22): _u there?_

Ian groaned, feeling like the biggest tool alive. Mickey had really put himself out there, and now he probably believed Ian was just straight up blowing him off, considering Ian’s only text had been to confirm his identity, and there had been no answer since. To make up for it, Ian typed out a reply so fast he thought his fingers might catch on fire. 

Ian (9:32): _Sorry! I just got off work. Didn’t take my phone with me, I promise I wasn’t trying to be an asshole._

Sighing heavily, Ian placed his phone back in his locker and began undoing his uniform button down, refusing to take his eyes off of his phone. He hoped to see it light up with a reply right away, but he couldn’t say he was surprised when it didn’t. It would be just his luck - having Mickey text him and inevitably fucking it all up.

Stripping down into his boxers, Ian folded up his uniform pants, button down, and undershirt into tight military style squares and stacked them in his duffle, before pulling out a black v-neck and a pair of jeans from the bag for his ride home on the L. When he turned back to his locker, he quickly donned the new clothes, and commanded himself to take a fucking shower before before bed. 

Ian peaked out over the neckline of the tee as he slipped into it, praying to see his phone screen anything other than black. No such luck. It had only been two minutes, but it felt like a lifetime. He nodded a few half hearted goodbyes to his coworkers who were flooding out the locker room as he shoved his feet back into his boots and grabbed his phone once more. 

Scanning over Mickey’s texts, Ian thought he could’ve been reading into it a little too much, but he couldn’t help but be interested in Mickey’s question about who else he had given his number too. It was obviously meant as a smart-ass joke, but Ian had once read somewhere that ‘in every joke, there lies a grain of truth’ or something equally as obnoxious and probably accurate. Now that he thought about it, Ian found that it wasn’t hard to believe that Mickey would be unsure about Ian’s true intentions. 

He could imagine how gut wrenching it would be to think that maybe you had cheated on your husband with someone who would either ghost you or string you along. For that very reason, Ian composed another text, hoping to smooth things over by joking back. 

Ian (9:37): _Also, to answer your question: 1) I don’t make a habit of banging married men, at least not any more and 2) You’re the only person I’ve given my number to in an embarrassingly long time. So no need to get your panties all twisted ;)_

He sent it as he slammed his locker shut. The minute Ian pressed the button and watched the message go from being editable to totally outside of his grasp, he felt the urge to smash his head against his locker door until he blacked out. Why did he have to be so embarrassing? He felt some strange need to be totally honest with Mickey about both his past and his present, which he was deeply regretting as he reread the text. He really hoped that Mickey would take it all as him trying to be funny, and not pry too much - if he responded at all, that is. 

It took the last vestiges of Ian’s strength to pocket his phone, sling the duffle over his aching shoulder, and trudge out of the locker room. He was the last one from his shift to leave the station it seemed, and there was only the night janitor to wave goodbye to on his way out. 

As he reached the station doors and burst out into the cooling night, Ian set off towards the nearest L stop, his lungs full of crisp evening air, his head full of _Mickey_ , and little else. 

*

Mickey had spent the rest of the day alone. 

It wasn’t too uncommon, actually, for him to be alone. He hadn’t made too many friends in the Northside, despite the way Clyde had tried to _‘socialize’_ him when their nuptials were set in stone. Mickey had found from the beginning that it was impossible for him to like or even relate to the people that ran in Clyde’s circles - although he got pretty damn good at faking it. 

At first, Mickey didn't know how to speak nor how to act around those stuck up assholes, and it seemed like he was always saying or doing the opposite of what Clyde wanted. He wasn’t at all sure what his husband fucking expected from him, having married a streetrat whose childhood home made a crackden look like a 5 star hotel, and whose idea of _luxury_ was having both running water and heat- _at the same time._

Several years later, Mickey knew how to shmooze with the best of them and, when Clyde managed to drag his ass to social functions, he no longer felt the need to stand by Mickey and monitor his every move. That being said, Mickey would have rather had his teeth kicked in then invite any of the people he was forced to speak with into his everyday life. 

He’d rather spend time alone. 

Two years ago, Clyde had surprised him with Baxter for Christmas. He’d handed Mickey a little wiggling box with holes carved in the sides, and when Mickey opened the top, the tiny Akita puppy practically leapt out onto his chest. Clyde had said having his own dog would keep Mickey from being so solitary and Mickey managed to ignore the dig because it was so goddamn hard to not fall deeply in love with the puppy madly licking under his chin. 

That was the Christmas Mickey had convinced his husband to renovate the old untouched wine cellar and convert it into a sort of rec room. Mickey was sure the only reason Clyde had eventually given in was because the new space would get Mickey ‘off his lazy ass’, as he so eloquently phrased it. In the end, Clyde had obliged only when Mickey agreed not to disappear into it for days at a time. He’d more or less kept the promise, up until recently. 

After he’d returned from taking the dogs on their walk, Mickey had made his way directly to the rec room. It had turned into a place of comfort for him, and he needed some fucking comfort after the way he’d just made an ass out of himself with Ian. It was hard not to be comforted surrounded by all his favorite things. 

The rec room had everything eight year old Mickey had ever asked Santa for - and then some. A flat screen that took up one entire wall, connected to every single gaming device a person could name. In the adjacent corner sat several electric guitars of all shapes and sizes, resting comfortably on their stands, complete with an army of amps, and a Bluetooth speaker system for when Mickey needed to let off a little steam. An ornate pool table made up the perfect centrepiece of the room, and to finish off the gaudy display, a refrigerated liquor cabinet, filled to the brim with all of Mickey’s favorites. To top it all off, Clyde soundproofed the room, more for his own sake that Mickey’s. 

It was a fucking paradise in Mickey’s opinion - an oasis in his otherwise contradictory existence. But of course, there was a cost to luxury.

Once he closed the door behind him, Mickey was alone. Well and truly alone. And on any other day it would have been a welcome sensation, if not for the way that the silence drew even more attention to the lack of response he had received from his red-headed tormentor. 

_He probably got fuckin’ busy_ , Mickey told himself, as he grabbed himself a beer and went about finding the appropriate song to blast away his errant thoughts. “Getaway” by Pearl Jam was the first song to pop up on Daily Mix on Spotify, and Mickey closed his eyes contentedly as the opening chords ripped through the speakers. He couldn’t help but feel it was appropriate, considering. 

_You’re overthinking this shit,_ Mickey thought, selecting a pool cue from the wall mounts, and rounding up the scattered balls on the table into the triangular rack. _He’s either gonna text back, or he won’t, either way it’s gonna be fine._

Mickey wondered, as he chalked his cue, if he should feel any sort of shame about playing a game of pool by himself. He was used to doing it - Clyde was dogshit at the game and couldn’t hit the broad side of a fucking barn with how horrible his aim was. Everytime Mickey had tried to be a good sport and teach him, it had ended in passive aggressive arguments that left his head aching. 

No, he much preferred playing the game by himself. The only times he’d ever had fun playing pool with other people were the occasions he and his brothers would stop by the Alibi as teenagers, slipping the owner (Kevin, Mickey remembered) a few spliffs so he would serve them a beer while they dominated the pool table for the evening. 

Mickey _might_ have missed it, if those cocksuckers hadn’t dropped him the moment Clyde put a ring on his finger. It wasn’t the _gay_ thing - Iggy and Colin had always known, and couldn’t have given less of a shit. Apparently, according to what Mandy had relayed to him some years back, his brothers thought he was a traitor for renouncing poverty and shacking up with a Northsider. Mickey had been enraged to hear it, and he would have made a mad dash to the Milkovich homestead to give them a piece of his mind if Mandy hadn’t managed to talk him out of it.

Mandy. She was the only one Mickey really missed. As he lowered his torso to the table to line up his first shot, Mickey let the bass of the intense music rumble through him, and considered giving her a call. Maybe she would know what to do about the _‘Ian Situation_ ’. Mickey shook the thought out of his head. He wouldn’t even know what to tell her. Plus, he hadn’t talked to her in far too long, and to just call and complain about his own problems was too much of a dick move, even for him. 

Mickey heard the crack of the cue ball’s impact, and watched as the balls separated, two stripes falling into their respective pockets. Distracting himself was all he could do while he waited for something that might not even happen. It was irritating as hell. 

He played for hours, and mercifully, he lost track of time. When a text finally came through, automatically lowering the music volume on his phone for a few seconds, Mickey slammed his third empty beer bottle down onto the edge of the pool table, and struggled to extricate his phone from the pocket of his sweatpants. 

Ian (9:32): _Sorry man! I just got off work. Didn’t take my phone with me, I promise I wasn’t trying to be an asshole_

Mickey turned down the pounding music as his stomach flip-flopped. Work? He had figured Ian had to have another job besides cleaning pools on the weekends, but he hadn’t exactly had a chance to ask while Ian’s cock was stuffed inside of him. 

He typed out a response, and then just as quickly backspaced, erasing it all. Mickey didn’t want to look fucking desperate - again. He’d already let all common sense fly out the window when it came to Ian, he couldn’t part with any more of his pride. He decided to wait at least five minutes - maybe ten - before he would allow himself to respond. 

Five minutes later, Mickey was taking aim yet again, pointedly ignoring his phone, when he noticed the screen light up again from where it was perched beside the line up of empty beer bottles. Immediately, he stopped what he was doing and read the message. 

Ian (9:37): _Also, to answer your question: 1) I don’t make a habit of banging married men, at least not any more and 2) You’re the only person I’ve given my number to in an embarrassingly long time. So no need to get your panties all twisted ;)_

Mickey was sure his face was growing flush, and he couldn’t stand it anymore. This time, he paused the music altogether. Focusing on a solo game of pool while listening to obscenely loud music was one thing, but replying to Ian required more concentration. Mickey trapped the pool cue between his knees, took his phone in both hands, and began typing out a reply. 

*

Mickey’s response came minutes before Ian’s train was set to arrive. He felt his phone buzz in the pocket of his paramedics jacket, which he’d slung on over his t-shirt to keep out the brisk nighttime chill, and Ian felt his heart rate speed up again. 

Taking out his phone, he read the message.

Mickey (9:39): _Good to know. Don’t I feel real fuckin special._

Seconds later a follow up arrived. 

Mickey (9:39): _Work?_

Ian (9:40): _I’m an EMT by day. Picked up the pool cleaning gig on the weekends because I have a fetish for getting rid of pool scum. Hot, right?_

Ian chuckled to himself as he watched the train grow nearer and screech to a halt, expelling a sea of people before the crowd Ian was waiting in began to slowly board. 

_Ian (9:41) Getting on the L btw, cell service sucks ass. Just wanted you to know in case you thought I was busy fooling around with one of those other guys you made up._

Mickey (9:41): _EMT huh? Fancy._

Mickey (9:42): _Thanks for the heads up. Lemme know when u get service, or blow ur load all over his imaginary face. Whichever comes first._

Ian stifled a full on burst of laughter as he shuffled aboard the crowded train, quickly pushing past the slowpokes and placing himself in the most isolated spot he could, pleased to see he still had one flickering bar of reception. He looked down at Mickey’s message again, and even though it wasn’t particularly sweet or meaningful, he still found his face aching from the grin he sported. 

Ian (9:43): _You’re in luck, he’s ignoring me. I gave him the best dicking down he’s ever had in his life and now he’s in an imaginary coma. I should probably check on him._

Mickey (9:44): _Wow. Ur hysterical. That poor fucker’s probably at the imaginary hospital and ur over here making jokes? That’s messed up, man._

Ian (9:44): _Good thing I’m a trained life saver._

Mickey (9:46): _Still can’t believe u don’t scrape the shit out of pool filters for a living._

Ian (9:46): _Sorry to disappoint you._

Mickey (9:47): _Way to ruin my fuckin fantasy._

Ian hitched his duffle up higher on his shoulder and licked his lips, which were suddenly very parched. It took him a split second to say _fuck it,_ and run with the softball Mickey was most likely lobbing to him. 

Ian (9:47): _Well shit. Why don’t you tell me your other fantasies then? I’ll see if I can help_ 😏

_*_

Mickey nearly crushed the cue chalk in his fist when he saw Ian’s latest message come through. His eyes scanned over the words, and his spine tingled. Was this really fucking happening? Ian seemed to be cutting straight to the chase. Granted, Mickey hadn’t exactly been subtle with his choice of wording in his last text. But _screw it_ , he was getting pretty tipsy and where there was Ian, there were thoughts of Ian fucking him. Mickey couldn’t escape it, even if he wanted too. 

Mickey (9:49): _Wouldn’t wanna get u all hot n bothered in public._

Ian (9:50): _I’ll be home in 5 if you need time to think._

Mickey tried not to pay attention to the simple but effective way Ian was managing to turn him on without having to put much effort in. And yeah, maybe it made him a piece of shit, but the added level of secrecy only made him all the more horny. _Why do I have a fucking kink for putting my neck on the line?_ Mickey asked himself, but of course he knew it was the Milkovich in him, rearing its ugly head. 

He decided to draw things out with Ian, as a petty sort of punishment for being left hanging for hours on end. 

Mickey (9:51) _Too many to choose from._

Ian (9:52): _So what I’m getting here is that you’ve put a lot of thought into planning the next time I fuck you._

Mickey (9:52): _Next? Well aren’t u fuckin sure of urself._

Ian barely looked up from his phone as he disembarked the train when it pulled up to his stop. On the short walk to his apartment, he felt his stomach grumble, although food was currently the last thing on his mind. As Ian fished his keys out of his pocket and ascended the stairs, he contemplated his next move. 

Ian (9:57): _Yes I am. And if you’re not going to play aIong, I guess it’s time to head over to the imaginary hospital… got someone waiting for me_

Mickey (9:58): _is that supposed to be some kind of threat?_

Ian (9:58): _Well that depends, are you down for an imaginary threesome?_

Mickey chuckled out loud, and was glad no one was there to witness how goofy he probably looked, cheesing like a schoolboy in the throes of his first crush. Mickey shook it off and picked up his cue. Taking aim, he let fly, and was pleased to hear another crack of the cue ball making connection. Watching the ball he had aimed for roll along and drop easily into the pocket, Mickey mulled over how to respond. 

Mickey (10:01): _A threesome with a guy that doesn’t exist is just two dudes fucking, smartass_

Gnawing on his bottom lip, Mickey added quickly: 

Mickey (10:01): _Is this why u wanted me to text u? So u have someone to try ur shitty jokes out on?_

Ian (10:02): _Yeah, definitely. Gonna try to be a comedian as a side career. 2 jobs isn’t enough for me._

Mickey (10:03): _wouldn’t quit your ur day jobs red, especially w/ those jokes._

Ian (10:03): _Damn, you’re already crushing my dreams and we’ve only fucked once. Save that for marriage kiddo._

Ian froze with his hand to the doorknob of his apartment the second he pressed send. What the fuck was wrong with him? It was like he had forgotten what universe they were living in. Marriage was obviously a sore spot for Mickey, given everything, and Ian had just opened his mouth and inserted his foot, like usual. Absently, he set down his duffle, kicked off his boots, and shrugged off his jacket, all the while trying to think up some way of making it less uncomfortable. Thankfully, Mickey responded first. 

Mickey (10:04): _moving a little fast there, aren’t u?_

Mickey (10:04): _if ur trying to turn me on it’s not working._

Ian sighed, relieved that Mickey had glossed right over his little faux pas, and didn’t seem too offput. Ian realized he had definitely said worse, straight to Mickey’s face the last time he had seen the man, but somehow the little indiscretion felt different now. Quickly, Ian rushed to his kitchen and searched his freezer for the TV dinners he kept stuffed in the back, precisely for these after-work occasions when he couldn’t be bothered to cook or wait on delivery. He pulled out the first one he saw, a pesto pasta dish that looked the least revolting, and promptly ripped through the packaging to get it ready for the microwave. 

Ian (10:09): _Yeah? Sucks, cause I thought we were really getting somewhere._

Ian (10:09): _Well I guess I’ll go eat my sad dinner and practice my jokes for next time._

Mickey (10:10): _What makes it sad?_

Mickey could have made a bigger deal out of Ian’s ‘marriage’ slip up, but he decided that he should extend some mercy instead. He just couldn’t get over how bizarre it was to be carrying on this conversation with Ian, or just how easy going it is. He typically avoided texting, only sending messages when he was too tired or pissed off to call Clyde. Mickey always found it awkward - he was bad enough at coming up with shit to say in person. However, against all of his expectations, texting with Ian didn’t feel awkward at all.

Ian (10:12): _Microwavable sadness, after a 14 hour shift no less_

_[Attachment: 1 Image]_

The picture came in a few seconds later, and Mickey zoomed in on the steaming TV dinner. It was pasta of some kind, not super appetizing, but Mickey could remember eating much worse in his childhood. 

Mickey (10:13): _Thanks for sharing, looks like dog shit_

Ian (10:13): _You’re welcome, asshole_

Ian sat back on his sofa with the bowl in one hand and his phone in the other. He took a couple bites while looking at his phone, breathing out of the corners of his mouth to avoid burning his tongue. 

Mickey was starting to feel his head buzz, but he put his cue down and shuffled over to the fully stocked liquor cabinet. He poured a splash of cognac from one of the decanters into a new glass. It may have been the alcohol making him all giddy, but on a whim, Mickey flipped over to his camera and took a picture of the brandy glass. He sent it before he could think about how stupid it was. 

Mickey (10:15): _still better than my dinner._

_[Attachment: 1 Image]_

Ian (10:15): _You gotta eat something for it to be considered dinner. Liquids don’t count._

Ian was genuinely delighted that they’d been able to keep up a continuous conversation for this long. It felt light and natural and a bit more like flirting than he’d expected. He smiled like an idiot every time his phone vibrated with a notification from Mickey, but the last message and accompanying picture made his stomach a little uneasy. 

Mickey downed the cognac and felt it all travel straight to his head. As fun as banter was, he was growing weary of dancing around the question, ignoring the dick shaped elephant in the room. 

Mickey (10:16): _Maybe if there was something around here that I felt like eating, it’d be a different sorry…_

“Shit,” Mickey muttered to himself. He couldn’t tell if he was being forward enough for Ian to get his meaning. All he knew was he was becoming increasingly horny and increasingly tipsy and he wanted Ian to _know_. It was kind of unbelievable, how he’d gone from wanting Ian to fuck off and stop complicating things, to deserpately wanting the opposite, in only a few days.

Ian (10:17): _Uh I’ve never gotten eaten out, but there’s a first time for everything._

Ian (10:17): _Is that part of the plan, Mick?_

Honestly, Mickey had never eaten anyone out before either. Not even a girl, back when he used to try and convince himself he was straight. That being said, he had a feeling that if he was going to try it with anyone, Ian was the one. 

Mickey (10:18): _what if it was?_

Ian (10:18): _I’d probably wanna fuck you again first, nice and hard. Then I might be open to discussing it._

Mickey felt a firecracker go off in his chest as he read the words. Looking down at himself, he was unsurprised to see his dick standing at half mast, beginning to tent his sweatpants. 

Mickey (10:19): _Interesting. Tell me more._

Ian swallowed the last couple bites of the pasta he had inhaled and tossed the empty plastic tray onto his coffee table before sitting back and rereading what Mickey had sent. It appeared to be an open invitation to convey his fantasies, and Ian was as eager as ever _._

Ian (10:21): _We can start with the fact that I want to fuck you this time. Like really fuck you, instead of you riding me._

Ian (10:21): _Which I fucking loved, don’t get me wrong_

Ian (10:21): _But you still haven’t seen what I can do ;)_

Mickey couldn’t believe those stupid little winkie faces weren’t turning him off, and his cock was still growing impossibly hard, despite them. Mickey placed his empty glass down on the liquor cabinet and wandered back over to the pool table, slowly rubbing his hardon through his sweatpants.

Mickey (10:23): _Cocky fucker. Put ur money where ur mouth is._

Ian (10:24): _You tell me when and where, Mick._

Through the haze of liquor and lust, Mickey let his fingers slip under his waistband, grasping around the base of his cock. He could feel himself already throbbing in his hand, hot and ready. He managed to type out a reply. 

Mickey (10:26): _Gettin me hard, Gallagher._

Ian (10:27): _We should do something about that then._

Ian groaned excitedly at what the conversation was turning into. He laid back on his sofa, stretching out over the length of it. All of this talk about fucking had gotten his cock firming up as well, and he slipped his hand beneath his pants and gripped his length over the fabric of his boxers. 

Mickey (10:27): _Doin something about it rn_

Ian (10:27): _Tell me all about it, maybe I’ll join you_

Mickey’s chest hummed with equal parts excitement and nervousness. He didn’t consider himself to be much of a wordsmith. Throwing his phone back onto the green felt, Mickey braced himself against the wooden lip of the pool table with one hand, and used the other to free his cock from his sweatpants, giving himself a few rough strokes and trying not to think about how he whimpered aloud through each one. He fumbled with his phone as he tried to craft a coherent response. He typed out a few sentences and erased them yet again, before finally settling on something that didn’t make him want to cringe out of his own skin. 

Mickey (10:29): _Jacking off, obviously._

He sent it and wished immediately that he could reel it back in. _Fuck I’m bad at this,_ he thought. 

As he stared at the phone screen, Ian noticed the little speech bubble pop up, three little dots dancing inside. He snickered to himself when they disappeared and reappeared a few times, before Mickey’s underwhelming response finally arrived. 

Ian (10:29): _Oh come on. You can do better than that. Tell me if you’re naked. Tell me how it feels. Tell me what you’re thinking about._

Ian (10:30): Tell me you’re thinking about me _. You miss my cock? Want it inside you?_

Mickey groaned and gripped himself harder. 

Mickey: (10:30): _not naked._

Ian (10:30): _Then get naked_

Ian (10:31): _Go to the nearest bathroom and strip. My clothes will come off too._

Ian knew he was pushing boundaries, but he was in the middle of stripping all of his clothes off in his living room and he was well past caring. He tossed his clothes into a pile on the floor and then reached forward to grab the small bottle of lube that he hid in the entertainment center, behind his collection of shitty 80’s and 90’s action movies. He poured a generous puddle of it out onto his palm as he laid back down on his sofa, positioning his old throw blanket between his ass and the couch cushions. He ran his hand along his cock to slick up his length and then picked up his phone with his left hand. 

Ian (10:31): _You wanna see?_

Mickey huffed and groaned loudly. If he hadn’t been so riled up, he would have certainly resisted being bossed around. However, considering that he wanted nothing more than to get off in that moment, being given orders with the additional promise of visual confirmation of Ian’s nakedness had him getting even more stiff in his own hand. 

There was a bathroom just down the hall from the rec room - one of five in the house. Mickey had never understood why rich people had such a fucking passion for bathrooms, but he now found himself grateful that they had so many. Quickly, he hauled up his sweatpants to cover himself up, and made a mad dash for the bathroom, shutting the door swiftly behind him. Mickey set his cock free the minute he flipped the lock, dropping the pants and stepping out of them and slowly stroked himself from tip to base. 

Mickey: (10:33): _Wouldn’t hurt_. 

Mickey: (10:33): _Did what u wanted. Gonna need some motivation to strip._

Ian (10:33): _Look at what you did._

[ _[Attachment: 1 Image]_ ](https://i.ibb.co/pvvcX3z/2-A4302-D1-BF2-F-4-B32-8-D2-F-8283-D2-B3652-A.jpg)

The picture came in as Mickey was pulling his tank top over his head. He’d placed his phone on the counter next to the sink, and he got his hand back on his aching member as soon as he could. Mickey leaned over his phone, unlocked it with clumsy fingers, and… there it was. Ian’s cock, looking just as glorious and formidable as Mickey had remembered it - although he found it a little less intimidating now that he knew he could definitely handle the whole thing.

Ian appeared to be slumped down, in a half sitting position, one large freckled hand wrapped around the base of his length, impeding it’s natural tendency to lean left. He had taken the photo from such an angle that Mickey could see Ian’s cock casting a shadow on the pale canvas of his well defined stomach. Mickey hungrily scanned over the patch of wiry ginger curls that wound their way down from Ian’s navel, before tracing the lazy vein, all the way up the length, nearly to the head. 

It was a fucking work of art. Mickey spit in the palm of his hand and went back to stroking himself into a frenzy. 

Mickey (10:35): _Fuck. So fuckin big._

Ian (10:36): _I showed you mine…_

Mickey (10:38): _real damn original._

[ _[Attachment: 1 Image]_ ](https://i.ibb.co/BfTdXBb/11-C65785-7184-40-CC-9-E0-D-909-BF1-D1-BC45.jpg)

“Jesus _fuck_.” Ian moaned breathily at the sight of Mickey’s cock, as he jerked himself off with broad strokes. It was fucking perfect, rosy and stiff, leaking messily. Mickey was obviously standing, and had taken the picture from above. His cock was hard enough that he didn’t even have to hold onto it to get the picture, and Ian was practically salivating at the thought. 

Ian (10:40): _Fuck. I want a taste._

Ian (10:40): _Got interrupted last time._

Ian (10:40): _Need a do-over._

Mickey caught sight of himself in the garish mirror hanging above the sink, and watched his hand as it pumped along his shaft. Precum was dripping from his tip and every inch of his skin was flush pink. He used one shaking finger to scroll back and forth between the picture of Ian’s cock and his filthy texts. Sure, it was shameless as fuck. Receiving a dick pic. _Sending_ a dick pic. Maybe it was just one more nail in his coffin. Yet, Mickey’s head was off, swirling in a vortex pleasure and _need_. He couldn’t have cared less if he tried. 

Mickey (10:42): _Guess u gotta earn it. And I’m dripping like a motherfucker too…_

Ian (10:42): _Fuckin’ tease._

Ian (10:42): _Show me._

Squeezing at the head of his cock, Mickey smeared a considerable amount of precum along the side of his hand, and took the picture. He didn’t hesitate, and he didn’t think it through, he just sent it. 

Mickey (10:43): _that all, ur highness?_

_[Attachment: 1 Image]_

Ian (10:44): _Definitely not, but it’ll have to be enough for now._

Ian stared at the picture, at the precum where it was streaked up the side of Mickey’s hand. Fuck, Mickey’s _hands_. Ian’s entire body ached to be touched by them again.Those rough hands, which looked so out of place in their current environment. Ian zoomed in closer on the image, until the pixels became grainy. It took all his strength to ignore the expensive wedding band, fixating instead on what looked to be the final traces of faded ink, greying the skin of his knuckles. Under different circumstances, Ian might have asked about the story behind the barely-there lines, but the last thing he wanted to do was squash the momentum they had going for them. 

Mickey, for his part, was getting ridiculously close to cumming, and it wasn’t fucking unfair. The way Ian could whip him up into such a state without even being present should have been considered a felony in the state of Illinois. It helped a little to know that, apparently, he was having a similar effect on Ian. Mickey slammed his palm down on the counter, and his flesh stung from the impact. He leaned further and further towards the sink, his hand a fevered blur- stroking, pulling, coaxing himself to his inevitable destination. 

Briefly, Mickey contemplated reaching back and teasing himself open with his fingers, but unfortunately, if he wanted to keep up texting Ian, he didn’t have a hand to spare. Besides, even a few of his fingers would not be satisfying enough - the slight stretch would pale in comparison to the feeling of Ian inside of him. Somehow, although Mickey’s eyes were pinching shut of their own volition, he managed to shakily hit the keypad, spelling out only two words. 

Mickey (10:46): _Fuck. Close._

Ian (10:46): _Cum Mick. Make a mess and show me please. I wanna see everything._

The moment Mickey read the word ‘cum’ on his screen, a chain of events was set into motion inside of him that could not be stopped. Despite his fatigue, Mickey forced his back to straighten up. And maybe he would never have admitted it to a single soul, but as his balls began to tighten in preparation for an orgasm to rip through his body, Mickey openly stared at himself in the mirror, fixating on the violent bob of the swollen tip of his cock as it passed in and out of his clenched fist at lightning speed. Running his free hand over the sweat drenched surface of his stomach and chest, a moan suspiciously resembling Ian’s name broke free from his lips, and then he was cumming. Hard. 

Mickey’s knees almost folded under him as he tried to keep upright, sagging into the force of the orgasm with a series of satisfied grunts. His eyes clamped shut, and Mickey allowed himself to bow forward, resting against the sink, if only to make sure he didn’t face plant. His head spun and when his ears finally ceased ringing, Mickey was drowning in the echoing sound of his own labored breathing. 

When he peeled his eyes open, Mickey witnessed his masterpiece - the marble-topped counter surrounding the sink was streaked with impressively thick strings of jizz, and he had even managed to hit the bottom corner of the mirror in his violent assault. Mickey took some sick pride in his accomplishment, despite being thoroughly exhausted.

With trembling hands, Mickey picked up his phone and switched to the camera, deliberating over the angle for a few seconds before taking the shot. Upon review, he saw that not only was the mess on the counter pronounced and visible, but the picture had also captured the corner of the mirror painted in his cum, which happened to expose in it’s reflection one of Mickey’s thighs and the better part of his cock. It was already going soft, recovering from the intense experience.

Mickey puffed out a breath, as a pleasured grin took over his face. He sent the picture. 

Mickey (10:50): _All I can say is, ur fuckin welcome._

_[Attachment: 1 image]_

Mickey (10:50): _That messy enough for u, Gallagher?_

Ian stroked harder and faster as his balls drew up tight. Seeing Mickey’s cum painting the counter was enough to drive him to the edge, but when he caught a glimpse of Mickey’s cock in the corner of the mirror, Ian lost what little control he had left. Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, Ian let his phone drop down onto his chest as he arched off the sofa and into his hand. He rolled his hips upward, thrusting into his fist, actively imagining that it was Mickey he was frantically fucking into. That thought soon pushed Ian into oblivion and he came with a heavy grunt, coating his stomach and his hand. 

Ian (10:52): _Fuck yes. Just made a mess too._

Mickey (10:52) _U think i’m just gonna take ur word for it?_

Ian (10:53): _You’re outta luck, I already cleaned up_ 😢

Ian (10:53): _Kidding, as if I can fucking move right now._

Ian (10:53): _Here, see for yourself._

_[Attachment: 1 Image]_

Ian sent back a selfie, angled to capture both the blissful smile plastered on his face and the milky strings of cum scattered over his torso. 

Mickey heard his phone sound off when the picture arrived, but forced himself to clean up the counter with some wadded up toilet paper before looking at it. He grumbled as he unsuccessfully mopped up the cum on the mirror, contenting himself with leaving barely a streak by the time he gave up. After all, the rec room bathroom was hardly ever used. He had just enough energy to clean himself off and redress, before stumbling on unsteady legs back out into the rec room. 

Collapsing onto one of the plush sofas the room had to offer, Mickey sighed aloud at the feeling of his overheated skin coming into contact with the cool leather of the couch. Mickey unlocked his phone, anticipation bubbling inside of him like a witch's cauldron, giving his undivided attention to the picture of Ian.

Of course Mickey’s eyes were immediately drawn to the cum that lay in stripes across Ian’s stomach, enthralled by the way the viscous substance beaded and pooled in valleys of his defined muscles. Mickey felt his exhausted cock stir slightly at the image, but of course nothing came of it. His gaze wandered over Ian’s photogenic features, and despite the euphoria and exhilaration of the moment, Mickey couldn’t shake the weight that was slowly settling over him, compressing him further into the couch. 

In his childhood, Mickey had swiftly learned to never implicitly trust anyone. In fact, if life had taught him anything, it was to explicitly distrust everyone, until they proved themselves worthy repeatedly. Even then, Mickey slept with one eye open. Especially after his biggest secret had been exposed, Mickey’s inner circle grew increasingly smaller. Christ, he had _married_ Clyde, for fucksake, and yet Mickey knew if he was asked whether or not he trusted his husband, he would have to plead the fifth. 

This is partially why Mickey found himself speeding towards a breakdown as he continued to stare at Ian’s picture. Beyond all reason and logic, Mickey had felt compelled to send Ian photos of himself in incredibly compromising positions. Granted, his face wasn’t in any of the photos, but it was certainly enough to incriminate him. It was a show of trust that had been executed without forethought, without restraint.

Ian’s influence was scrambling his brain, and Mickey was as intrigued as he was panic stricken. 

_He sent them back_ , Mickey reassured himself, placing his palm over his heart as if he could physically stop it from pounding so hard. _You can see his face in this one._

_He trusts you, for some reason._

Mickey quickly scrolled backward through their conversation, saving each photo Ian had sent into a password protected folder. Partially as ammunition, partially because he wanted to be able to look at them again, even when he inevitably deleted the conversation thread. Once this was finished, Mickey warred with himself over what his next message would say. Finally he settled on the only thing he could think of. 

Mickey (11:01): _Thanks._

Mickey slammed his head back against the headrest of the couch, punishing himself for being so fucking strange. 

Ian (11:02): _You don’t have to thank me. This was fun :)_

Ian tried to recover his breathing as he reached for some old takeout napkins on the coffee table to clean himself up. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting Mickey to say, exactly, but the last thing Ian would have anticipated was _gratitude_. 

Ian (11:04): _Plus,_ _you’re hot, Mick_

Ian (11:04): _Like, really fuckin’ hot_

Ian (11:04): _Just in case you were wondering._

A few minutes passed with no response, and just as Ian was starting to think maybe he passed the fuck out or something, the swoosh of a reply sounded through his phone’s speakers. 

Mickey (11:07): _Shut tf up man_

Mickey (11:08): _Ditto..._

Ian (11:08): _Well gee, thanks :)_

Ian somehow peeled himself off of the sofa, pocketing his phone and heading to toss the dirty napkins and the empty tray of food. He ran his hands under the lukewarm tap water in the kitchen, instantly remembering that he was in dire need of a hot shower. Dragging himself to his tiny bathroom, Ian switched on the broken exhaust fan and started his favorite shower playlist before sending Mickey a few more messages. 

Ian (11:11): _Brb gotta take a shower_

Ian (11:11): _Oh, look at that, it’s 11:11_

Ian (11:11): _Make a wish_ 😋

Mickey snorted at the message, and the dumbass emoji that accompanied it, but _goddammit_ if he didn’t feel those butterflies stirring shit up inside of him once again. It was getting harder and harder to remember that Ian had the potential to fuck his life up irreversably, when he kept making Mickey feel so fucking warm and _good._

And truth be told, Mickey wished for a hell of a lot. He wished for things to be uncomplicated, for once in his life. He wished that he had not been so eager to escape his fucked up past by hitching his wagon to Clyde. Most unspeakable of all, Mickey wished he had paid more attention to the freckled stringbean who lived two streets over from him for practically his whole life. He wished he’d have known a good thing when he saw one. 

Instead, when Ian stepped out of the steaming shower ten minutes later, and checked his phone with slippery fingers, he saw only one text waiting for him.

Mickey (11:11): _I wish u weren’t so fuckin weird._

Ian huffed fondly, and wrapped the towel around his waist. 

Ian (11:23): _Whatever man._

Ian (11:23): _For the record, my wish was that we’d have time to do this again soon. Because I’m nice like that._

Mickey (11:24): _Ur fuckin weird like that._

Ian (11:25): _Agree to disagree_.

Ian (11:25): _Either way, I meant what I said_ 😌

At that Mickey released his phone, letting it drop down into his lap. For the first time since his first encounter with Ian, he gave in to his racing heart and his squirming inside - and Mickey _believed_ him.

*

Ian: (3:24): _Just realized I never asked you._

Ian: (3:25): _What did you tell him about the busted lounger?_

They had been texting on and off for the better part of a week, and Mickey was starting to become surprisingly comfortable with the routine of it all. As often as their conversations led to the exchange of raunchy words and even _raunchier_ pictures, their discourse steadily morphed into something that had begun to feel less like a torrid affair, and more like two friends _talking_. 

Over the week their texts had spanned a multitude of topics, and Mickey was catching on to the simple pleasures of just having someone to _say shit to_. Not even important shit. Just mundane, everyday things that used to only matter to him. He was beginning to get the feeling that they mattered to Ian too.

Ian’s latest question had sort of snapped him back to reality, though. He was reminded pretty harshly that whatever relationship they were tentatively developing wasn’t _just_ a friendship. It _couldn’t_ be. They had already crossed several forbidden lines. So much was at stake for Mickey. It almost took his breath away if he thought about it too deeply.

Mickey (3:26): _Threw that bitch in with the neighbors trash before he got home._

Mickey (3:26): _Took some work, but I finally convinced him that we only ever had three chairs not four._

Ian (3:30): _NO WAY. You serious?_

Ian (3:30): _And he believed you?_

Ian (3:30): _Damn, Northsiders really don’t give much of a shit about their property, do they?_

This caused Mickey to pause, flashing back to a week and a half ago when Ian had grilled him about whether or not he considered _himself_ to be included in Clyde’s property. He knew that wasn’t what Ian was insinuating, but Mickey couldn’t help but automatically draw parallels.

In the middle of typing out his response to Ian, Mickey groaned and flattened his entire body against bed as he heard Clyde calling for him from down the stairs, his voice carrying through the house surprisingly well despite its massive size. Mickey pocketed his phone mid-sentence and wandered out from the bedroom into the hallway, coming to stand at the railing overlooking the foyer. Clyde came into view and he appeared to be dressed for golfing. 

Like most of the city’s elite that were aged fifty or older, Clyde and his contemporaries paid a visit to the exclusive golf club at the Chicago Park course for an afternoon of sipping cocktails and competing to see who can come off as the most pretentious, all while pretending to give a shit about the game. Mickey had often gone with him over the years - the age-old game of keep up appearances and “giving off the right impression”. Recently, Clyde had stopped insisting that he tag along. He had a feeling that his husband had taken to sharing details of their… _complex_ relationship.

“Oh there you are.” Clyde sniffed and hiked his bag of clubs higher up on his shoulder, smoothing down the brim of the stupid little tweed cap that made him look about ten years older than he was. “I wanted to mention something quickly before I left. The other gentlemen are waiting for me at the club.” 

“Well, here I am.” Mickey confirmed, folding his arms to lean across the railing. Perhaps he should have descended the stairs to talk to Clyde, but honestly, he didn’t fucking feel like it. “What is it?” 

“I’ve been thinking about the pool cleaning we had done.” Mickey couldn’t have been more surprised to hear the words coming from Clyde. “That pool boy didn’t do a very good job. The water is filthy. I wanted to let you know that I’ve called the company and requested for him to come back and fix his mistakes this upcoming weekend. You’ll have to let him in again, I’ll be at that conference all day.” 

Mickey kept his expression stoic and unaffected, although he was absolutely reeling on the inside. Firstly, he was put off by Clyde speaking about Ian in such a nonchalant way, until he reminded himself that Clyde thought of Ian as a menial worker and was treating him as such. Secondly, Mickey was stunned to come to the realization that Clyde was unwittingly delivering Ian straight to his door. It was hard to fucking believe. 

“Uh, alright.” Mickey managed to choke out. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

Clyde nodded, his final task finished, so he turned to leave. Mickey may have noticed that his husband didn’t offer any one of his customary goodbyes, if his mind had not been so consumed with the fact that he would soon see Ian in person again. When the front door shut, Mickey blinked and immediately ran towards the bedroom, grabbing for his phone.

Mickey (3:36): _Looks like I’ll see u this weekend._

Ian (3:37): _Oh yeah? How do you figure_

Mickey (3:37): _Just got told u did a shit job cleaning the pool_

Mickey (3:38): _so he’s asking ur company to send u back this weekend._

Ian was nearly at the end of his workout routine at his neighborhood gym - mid bicep curl - when he read Mickey’s texts. He was thankful that he had a good grip on the weight, or else he definitely would have dropped it straight onto his foot and crippled himself. Carefully, Ian set the weight down on the mat beside him and popped out one ear bud, as if it would help him comprehend the sudden turn of events. Nobody had contacted him yet, but if what Mickey said was true, he’d be receiving a text soon. It was almost too good to be true.

Ian (3:40) _Well, first off, he can go fuck himself because there’s nothing wrong with that pool._

Mickey (3:41): _He’s just being an asshole because he can._

Mickey (3:41): _What else is new._

One of the most enlightening things Ian had learned over the last week of his ill defined texting relationship with Mickey was that Clyde Miller was indeed the jackass Ian had taken him for - but for a multitude more reasons he had not initially anticipated. The more he learned, the less sorry he felt for bluntly inserting himself into the marriage, and continuing to do so every time he texted Mickey. 

And now, he felt a cheshire cat-like grin threatening to split his face open, because the miserable bastard was unknowingly making Ian’s weekend a hell of a lot better. 

Ian (3:43): _I guess I’ll see you this weekend then._

Mickey (3:44): _I guess so._

Ian (3:45): _Don’t sound so excited._

Mickey (3:47): _I’ll show u how excited I am this weekend._

Ian (3:48): _Hmmm, is that a threat or a promise?_

Mickey sat down on the edge of the bed, and allowed the increasingly familiar sensation to rush over him - the cracking of yet another layer inside of him, chipping away to reveal something soft and _alive_ underneath. 

Mickey (3:50): _Promise, dickhead._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks once again for reading! We had so much fun with this chapter, and we’d love to hear what you think, so drop a comment! 
> 
> As a heads-up: ‘Poolboy’ will be taking a two week hiatus, to give us time to catch up with our busy lives, and make sure the next chapters are the best they can be! Thank you all so much for your support, and we will see you on October 25th! <3


	9. I'm always just a phone call away.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being so patient and kind! We hope you like this chapter. It's over 14,500 words long (the longest chapter yet) and took a lot of extra time and love 😁
> 
> Enjoy! 
> 
> Feel free to send us comments, reactions, and questions on insta, twitter, or tumblr! ❤️
> 
> Jinlin5- insta: @gallavich_doodles; tumblr: @doodlevich  
> camnoelgallavich- insta: @cam.monaghanfan; Twitter: @cam_monaghanfan

During the following two days, Ian couldn’t seem to contain his excitement about seeing Mickey in person again. Every time his phone alerted him to another text, Ian remembered Mickey’s promise, and his insides would turn to jelly. He’d been daydreaming about a few different fantasies, every moment he had the chance, and it was not an easy stream of thought to break from once he’d gotten himself properly entrenched in it. Ian just couldn’t fucking help himself. Mickey’s body was perfect- it did things to him that defied all logic and reason. Ian wanted to devour Mickey in as many ways as he’d allow. 

Not only that, Ian genuinely enjoyed talking to him. He was hilarious, easily cracking Ian up over even the most mundane of topics. They were from the part of town, after all, which afforded Ian an understanding of Mickey’s mannerisms and temperament that few others were privileged to have. Sure, he was a bit grumpy, but this fact only made it more entertaining for Ian to tease the shit out of him, just to get him riled up. It was refreshing, Ian realized, to finally find someone who had a fundamental understanding about him that other’s often didn’t have - couldn’t have, if he was honest. It was nice change of pace to not have to constantly explain the quirks that a life of financial and parental instability had burdened him with, like why he had the habit of always double checking the locks on his doors before heading to bed, or why he would still scarf down each meal as if someone (namely, Frank) was going to take it from him.

Truth be told, any Southsider would understand these idiosyncrasies. But that wasn’t the only thing about Mickey that had drawn Ian in so damn deep. At the core of it all, Ian could just tell that Mickey was inherently _right_ for him. He was so different from anyone Ian had ever met before. As argumentative and difficult as he could be at times, Ian had also witnessed the softer side- one that Ian was sure Mickey's been repeatedly taught to suppress the talkative, inquisitive side. The side that liked to laugh and flirt. The side that Ian was starting to believe might actually genuinely give a shit about him. Care about him, even. It had been a while since someone other than his family had taken an interest in his life, especially the average, day-to-day shit. Now, each day, Ian felt like there was something worth looking forward too - all thanks to one raven haired, pale skinned, shitstirrer.

After more or less given up on finding some to make him feel such complicated, paradoxical, _wonderful_ feelings, it was little wonder that Ian felt so fucking fantastic. Mickey excited him, grounded him, made him feel less alone. Ian hadn’t known such things were missing from his life until _Mickey_. For hours on end, they would flirt, and joke, and laugh their asses off as they each went about their respective day. Then, invariably, they would end the night with a highly provocative round of sexting. Goddamn, Mickey was a quick learner. Although he had started off unsure of himself, Ian had seen great improvements with each text Mickey sent and each photo shared. 

It was safe to say, Mickey made Ian feel more _alive_ than he had in years. 

_*_

On Saturday morning, Ian parked the company pickup truck in the driveway of the Miller house and was relieved to see that Clyde’s usual car was nowhere to be seen. _Shit, did Mickey get rid of him just for us?_ Ian thought to himself as he smiled down at his phone screen, firing off a quick text to Mickey to let him know that he’d arrived. It was a fucking scandalous thought - Mickey begging off the old man just so he and Ian could have some alone time. The very notion had Ian burning up all over. 

Ian disembarked from the cab of the truck with only his phone and an empty water testing bottle. He tried to keep his steps casual as walked up to the gate, but he was sure he had an undeniable spring in his step. 

Just then, as if his life were some type of goddamn movie, the back gate he’d been approaching swung open on its hinges, revealing Mickey standing in the doorway. This dramatic entrance was in stark contrast to the uncomfortable one Ian had unwillingly participated in on his previous visit, and Mickey appeared to be keen on redeeming himself. Ian was further delighted when he noticed what Mickey was wearing - nothing but black fitted boxers and the very same robe Mickey had greeted him in during their first encounter. It was open this time, gently waving at his sides in the slight breeze, and Ian thought that it had no right to look as enticing as it did. 

The only other additions seemed to be a pair of aviator sunglasses resting loosely on the bridge of his nose, obscuring his bright eyes from Ian’s view, and a smirk that made Ian’s heart skip a beat. Ian was glad he’d decided to ditch the company uniform in favor of a plain white tank and his most comfortable pair of shorts, which had the added bonus of accentuating his ass.

“Damn, Mick.” Ian praised under his breath, eyeing the man up and down as he continued to make his way over to the gate, edging ever closer to what he was sure could be one of the best days of his life.

*

When Clyde had left for his conference that morning, Mickey had to restrain himself from rushing him out the door. He hoped it wasn’t obvious that he was being extra helpful, making sure that Clyde hadn’t forgotten anything, and that his overnight bag was packed and waiting at the door for him. It was only a two day conference, being held in Minneapolis, but it still felt like a small slice of freedom. 

As usual, Clyde’s head was firmly entrenched up his own ass, and he was barely present when he said his goodbyes. Mickey kissed him goodbye, and was surprised to find that he didn’t feel a single twinge of guilt. It may have had something to do with the butterflies that had made a permanent nest inside of him, and stirred up every time he thought about Ian’s visit. 

Mickey had never had a crush. He’d never had the time to focus on such childish things when every day of his life as a teenager had been primarily about his survival. Yet, Mickey could easily imagine that having a crush felt exactly like the chemical reaction that ignited inside of him every time he got a notification from Ian. He had been very careful, deleting the messages as often as he could, never leaving his phone unattended, making sure he wasn’t acting suspicious so as not to tip Clyde off. Mickey knew he couldn’t get away with being so standoffish with his husband any longer. At the same time, he knew it was dangerous to appear too giddy. Clyde wasn’t used to seeing him that way - Mickey had always held his emotions close to his chest. Yet, just the thought of Ian conjured up in him the type of excitement that was hard to contain. 

The instant Clyde’s Lincoln Navigator had cleared the block, Mickey had begun to prepare himself for Ian’s arrival. He showered, shaved, and threw some gel in his hair, before picking out a slightly too small pair of black boxers, and tying his silk robe around his waist. He felt a little silly, putting so much effort in just to pretend that he hadn’t even tried - Mickey wanted Ian to think he had just rolled out of bed, dawned his sunglasses, and wandered into the backyard.

“Hey, Red,” Mickey greeted, as Ian approached. He was trying to keep it casual, in an effort to trick himself into being calm. However, the way Ian was devouring him whole with just one look had Mickey’s heart beating so hard that he was sure it would leave a permanent bruise on the inside of his ribcage. “Saw you comin’.” He said, cryptically.

“Yeah? You got a spidey sense for me or one of those fancy security systems that talks to you and shit?” Ian teased as he kept up his momentum, walking right up to Mickey and crowding his space. “I got a feeling it’s the latter.” He smirked and held the frame of Mickey’s sunglasses and lifted them up to make eye contact with his ocean-colored irises. 

Mickey was thoroughly unprepared for Ian to be all up in his business so soon, but he sure as hell wasn’t complaining. He backed up a bit, only to close the gate behind Ian and isolate them in the backyard - away from where nosey neighbors might see them. He stepped back in just as quickly, playfully brushing away Ian’s hands, allowing the sunglasses to stay mounted up on his forehead, where Ian had pushed them. Mickey’s tongue was tied as he appraised Ian’s striking features, but he soon found the words he was searching for.

“Nah. Not quite. _He’s_ too paranoid for that shit.” Mickey had taken to not referring to Clyde by name in conversation with Ian. The last thing he wanted was to pull them out of the fantasy by bringing up his husband so blatantly. “Apparently anything more than an alarm system puts us in danger of being watched by the government or something. He doesn’t understand how it fuckin’ works, and I don’t feel like trying to explain it.” After all, it was a damn good thing they didn’t have to worry about security cameras, Mickey realized. It would have made things like this exceedingly difficult. “Just happened to be looking out the window when you pulled up, is all.” 

Ian chuckled and rolled his eyes at the thought of the old man’s technological incompetence. Regardless, he didn’t want to waste what precious little time he had with Mickey talking shit about Clyde, so he was quick to move on. He reached his hands out towards Mickey’s bare waist, but stopped short and glanced towards the house before looking back to Mickey. “Uh, am I good to…” He gestured between them. He wasn’t after anything in particular, but Mickey’s body was already calling to him, begging to be touched. 

Mickey was once again fixated on Ian’s hands, and the thrill of them being so tantalizingly close. “Yeah… you, _uh_ …” He cleared his throat and tried again. “Yes. The maid won’t be in until later.” 

Mickey had spent a few days dreaming up what errand he could send Alice on, in order to give Ian and himself their much needed privacy. In an odd turn of events, Mickey found himself feeling more guilty for deceiving the _maid_ than he did pulling the wool over his own husband’s eyes. Perhaps it was that Alice was an innocent bystander to the debauchery, and Mickey felt like keeping her busy was almost like pulling an unwitting party into his scheme. However, in yet another stroke of good luck, Mickey hadn’t needed to concoct any sort of wild goose chase - Alice had called the house the previous evening and explained to Mickey that her son was in town for the weekend. She had asked for a few hours off that morning to grab brunch with him, and of course Mickey seized the opportunity to encourage her to take the afternoon as well. Of course, he had neglected to bring it up to Clyde. _What’s one more lie?_ Mickey figured.

“That might be the best thing you’ve ever said.” Ian murmured playfully, knowing all the while that it was nowhere near his favorite thing that Mickey would say today, by a long shot. With his anxieties put to rest at the reassurance that they were alone, Ian tentatively brushed his hands against the warm skin of Mickey’s torso, running his thumb along the man’s rib cage. He took his time pulling Mickey against his body, one hand drifting further down under his robe to cup Mickey’s ass. Ian’s lips parted on their own accord, the air exiting his lungs in a steady stream as he leaned closer. Instead of rushing to press his lips to Mickey’s, Ian tilted his head and placed a few kisses against his throat. 

“God, you’re so fucking sexy... Been thinking about you....” Ian hummed against Mickey’s skin, unable to keep the comments to himself any longer. He didn’t know when they were going to have their next opportunity to meet up, so naturally he fully intended on blowing Mickey’s mind. In keeping with his twisted sense of humor, he’d planned on dragging each moment out as long as Mickey’s impatient ass would allow - starting now, by letting his hands roam Mickey’s bare chest and back, and placing hot, open mouthed kisses against his skin.

Mickey’s eyelids began to shut of their own accord, and he could honestly say he had ever felt more _homosexual_ in his life. The way Ian’s silky lips brushed over his skin, tenderly pressing into the flesh at pre-planned intervals had him forgetting where and who he was almost instantly. It was potent and exhilarating, and galvanized Mickey into cupping the back of Ian’s head. He felt the bristles of Ian’s close cropped hair beneath the pads of his fingertips as he exerted a slight bit of pressure, holding onto Ian like he was the only thing keeping him upright.

“Jesus… how the fuck do you do that?” Mickey gasped, breathless with the thrill of Ian’s teasing touch. He didn’t even mean to say it out loud, but Ian’s needy lips seemed to extract it from him, like the redhead was exorcizing Mickey’s personal demons. 

“Do what?” Ian mumbled distractedly around wet kisses. He hadn’t been thinking about his next move, his mouth and body seemed to be reacting naturally to Mickey, without any direction. He carefully inched his lips up to the sensitive spot below Mickey’s ear as he started to walk Mickey backwards towards a sturdy section of the fence, trapping Mickey between it and his own body. He stepped one of his legs between Mickey’s, parting them to push forward against the man.

“Ruin me,” Mickey gasped into Ian’s ear, “Right outta the fuckin’ gate…”

Ian could only conjure up a smirk in response to Mickey’s honestly. He moved along Mickey’s stubble-coated jawline before trailing his mouth back down, this time to the untouched side of Mickey’s neck. “Fuck, _Mick_.” Ian hissed and tightened his hold, fighting the growing temptation to sink his teeth into the pale canvas of Mickey’s skin and leave a few marks. 

Mickey could feel Ian’s dick firming up against his leg, but somehow he still managed to have a rational thought. As much as he was thoroughly enjoying himself, he knew if they started this now, Ian would never get to do his job, and if the water wasn’t as crystal clear as Clyde was expecting it to be, it would be just another tip off to his husband that something was amiss. It annoyed the hell out of him, how he couldn’t just let himself go and focus on the way Ian was making every inch of his skin shiver and tingle. Mickey wanted nothing more than to be flipped around and fucked against the fence. He wanted to feel the weight of Ian’s strong frame draped over him. To have the air pounded out of his lungs with each thrust of Ian’s hips. 

Yet, it was clear that Ian was already too gone to be the voice of reason, and Mickey knew one of them had to be. He somehow wriggled his palms into the nonexistent space between his chest and Ian’s, and slowly exerted force, until Ian got the message and pried himself away. The look of disappointment on his face almost drove Mickey wild, but it had to be done. 

“Ey, you got a job to do, dumbass.” Mickey reminded him reluctantly, but nudged his knee forward, rubbing it against the tent Ian had been pitching in his shorts. “Well. You got two jobs to do. And you gotta do the first one,” Mickey gestured to the pool, “before you get to _do_ the second one.” He quirked his brows upward as he thumbed towards himself. 

Ian let out a moan when Mickey pressed against his length, “Five more minutes.” He whined, presenting his most pitiful puppy dog eyes to Mickey. When the man appeared unrelenting in the face of this tactic, Ian squeezed Mickey’s ass once more, before bringing both of his palms up to Mickey’s cheeks, maintaining eye contact and giving him a pout. “Two more minutes?” He whispered. 

Mickey blew a stream of air from his nose, trying to convey his exasperation, but nothing could have been farther from the truth. He was unbelievably close to giving in and letting Ian have his way - it was a testament to how truly smitten Mickey was becoming, that he didn’t demand that Ian stop whining and get to work. The way Ian was looking at him, as if the sun itself had made a home in Mickey’s eyes, had Mickey crumbling and caving within seconds. 

“ _Jesus_ , c’mere you candy-ass motherfucker,” Mickey growled, roughly taking Ian’s face in his hands and yanking him in. He slotted their mouths together firmly, and found himself smiling against Ian’s lips when the man melted into him like a snowflake on glass. 

Mickey had never fully understood the purpose of kissing. He didn’t get what it did for people - it had always seemed like a strange ordeal, with none of the incentives of boning. That being said, as Mickey’s thumbs idly smoothed over the freckles on Ian’s cheeks, it occurred to him suddenly that perhaps he had just never kissed the _right person_. If kissing someone was supposed to feel like earth had stopped spinning through space - well, Mickey thought he finally understood the appeal. 

Once Ian caught his bearings, tucked against Mickey’s frame, warmth blossomed inside of his chest. Begrudgingly, he broke the kiss for a moment, leaving a paper thin space between their lips in order to inhale as much of a breath as he could manage. His gaze lowered, providing him a pleasing view of Mickey’s heaving chest and wet lips, before he swooped back down to lick along them and tease them apart with his tongue.

There was a delay between Mickey’s lips and his brain, and as he caught on to Ian’s attempts to turn the kiss into something even less wholesome, he was back to defending his position. He allowed Ian only a few seconds of fun, parting his lips a fraction to invite Ian’s soft tongue to glide along his own, before Mickey pulled himself back in such a precipitous fashion that Ian was left macking on air for a few milliseconds. Mickey slipped out from between Ian and the fence, and on a devilish whim, delivered a sharp smack to Ian’s ass as he sprang out of Ian’s reach. He danced backward a few paces, and relished the sight of Ian slowly turning toward him, redness blooming across his face. 

“You think I don’t know what you’re up to? Better luck next time, firecrotch.” Mickey snickered, beginning to stroll away. “Tell you what. How about you come find me when you finish up? Might be somethin’ good in it for ya.” If it had been anyone else, Mickey would have been mortified to have winked, but he felt the line called for it, and Ian seemed to be a sucker for whatever nonsense Mickey tossed his way. As a parting gift, Mickey plucked the sunglasses from his forehead and tossed them at Ian. Despite his shock, Ian only fumbled them slightly and Mickey chuckled as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his robe. “Don’t wanna hurt your eyes, do ya? Sun’s brutal today.” 

Ian was still blushing, sheepish about the fact that Mickey could so easily _tell_ that he wanted more. He never did know how to play it cool, and apparently his dick didn’t either. Looking down at the Versace sunglasses in his hands before rolling his eyes and putting them on. “You would know right? Since it shines outta your ass.” He teased and flipped Mickey off, loving the way he was walking backwards to keep his eyes on Ian. 

Mickey returned the obscene gesture and forced himself to head inside before he could change his mind. It was a terrific game of cat and mouse, and yet as good as if felt, he was certain that he was well out of his depths. As a child, and well into his teens, Mickey’s life had been nothing more than waiting for the next bad thing to happen, to the point where - now as an adult - he wasn’t sure if he knew how to handle things being _good_ for very long. 

All Mickey could do was try, he supposed. 

*

Ian had tested the water quality and balanced the chemicals in 30 minutes flat. It wasn’t very strenuous work, given that there was nothing _fucking_ wrong with the water at all, just as Ian had suspected. The only issue, as far as he could tell, was a spot of green algae on the floor by the steps of the pool, which usually occurred when the owner didn’t keep the chemicals balanced day to day. _Of course Clyde doesn’t bother with that._ Ian simply could not contain his animosity when it pertained to the man. He had a face that was just begging to be punched, and Ian would’ve gladly been the one to deliver it. 

He picked up the scrubber and telescopic pole from his truck and brought it back to clean off the area and then add in a little more algaecide to ensure that the water would be an unwelcoming environment for more algae to form. He swept it off the floor and out of the pool, dumping it in a plastic bag and then taking the bag out to the trash. He squatted near the side of the pool when he returned to the backyard, and was in the middle of inspecting the pool again, when he heard a noise that caught his attention. 

*

Mickey had been staring at the same spreadsheet on Clyde’s desktop computer for what felt like a decade, and his eyes were on the verge of glazing over. As much as he was hoping to give Ian time to do what he needed to do, it was driving him up the fucking wall that he was depriving himself of what they both so clearly wanted. Mickey had hoped to distract himself with invoicing. He should have known better - every effort to keep his mind occupied had failed miserably.

Checking the time, Mickey groaned aloud upon seeing that only half an hour had passed. Against his better judgement, he picked himself up from the cushy desk chair and padded over to the sliding glass door, peering out into the backyard. To his surprise, Ian actually appeared to be close to finishing up, which filled Mickey with an instant sense of excitement. Embarrassingly, he watched Ian strut around the pool for longer than he would have liked to admit, admiring the way the sun illuminated the redness of his hair, making it look like a dancing flame from Mickey’s vantage point. To top things off, Ian was still wearing the sunglasses, which only made Mickey’s smile grow more pronounced and difficult to contain.

Eventually, when Mickey pulled himself from the grips of his trance, he formed a fist and rapped his knuckles against the glass. He continued his knocking, bringing the thumb and pointer fingers of his free hand to his mouth, producing a loud and lengthy wolf whistle that finally succeeded in catching Ian’s attention.

* 

Ian looked up at the noise, and his face lit up upon seeing Mickey standing behind the glass. Despite the sunglasses, Ian still had to squint against the sun to get a good look at him. When his vision focused, he could see that Mickey was holding up one hand, forming a circle with his fingers, repeatedly pushing his index finger through the hole he’d formed - all the while grinning madly, like the cat who caught the canary. 

“Fuckin’ _dork_ .” Ian chuckled under his breath. He tossed the pole in his hands behind him and set off on a jog over to the house, utilizing his long legs to take the steps two at a time up onto the veranda It was the farthest thing from _playing it cool_ , but he’d finally gotten the signal he’d been waiting for. It wasn’t quite the signal he’d been expecting though - Ian had been daydreaming about Mickey meeting him out by the pool, having ditched the robe inside, intent on selecting their next sacrificial pool chair. Something about Mickey beckoning him with such juvenile hand signals made the whole situation even better than he thought it would be.

Mickey chuckled as he saw Ian speeding towards him and his heart took up pounding again, right on cue. He stepped up to the sliding glass door, cracking it open an inch before wrenching it to the side, preparing a space for Ian to step into. Ian was galloping up the steps, much like an excited puppy, and Mickey thought it was both the stupidest and most endearing sight he’d ever witnessed. 

“You finished out there yet, champ?” Mickey teased, as Ian slowed his approach. They were only a few feet apart and Mickey knew Ian was hell-bent on closing the distances

. “I’m gettin’ pretty fuckin’ bored in here…” He took a big leap then, making his next decision instantaneously. 

Mickey loosened the ties of his silk robe until they fell down to the side, useless. He then coyly allowed the material to slip down his shoulders, off of his arms and onto the floor, until he was standing in nothing but his boxers. The sun was warming up Mickey’s skin, only exacerbating the heat that was rising up within him, from the inside out. The hungry look in Ian’s wide eyes was enough to let Mickey know his boldness was more than just appreciated. 

Ian attempted to take another step forward but he was frozen in his tracks as he took in Mickey’s newly exposed body. He held his arms out and beckoned the man to walk to take a step towards him, too overwhelmed by the sight to think straight.

“Nah, I don’t think so,” Mickey shook his head slightly and backed away from the doorway, relishing the way he had Ian practically forming a puddle of drool. It made him feel a little more powerful, the idea that Ian found him so irresistible. “The fuck are you waiting for? Get your ass in here.” Maybe Ian was hesitant to fool around in Clyde’s office? Mickey wasn’t sure, but he didn’t particularly care. The thought of desecrating his husband's work space made Mickey’s cock twitch excitedly. 

Ian wasn’t about to waste time waiting for yet another invitation. He took two large steps, over the threshold of the glass door and into the office, and grabbed onto Mickey, yanking him forward until they were once again chest to chest. Ian’s hands found the soft fabric of Mickey’s tight boxers, roaming around until he brushed against Mickey’s hardening cock. As Mickey expelled a soft pleasured breath, Ian spontaneously concluded that he would much rather be kissing the air out of the man’s lungs. _Fuck breathing_. He leaned in and licked along Mickey’s lower lip, at which point Ian felt Mickey surrender himself, limply moulding their bodies together and giving himself over to the experience. 

Every inch of Mickey’s frame relaxed as Ian’s lips landed on his own, like an addict's body after the first hit of their drug of choice. His hands trailed around to Ian’s back, sneaking up under the hem of his tank top until he was touching soft skin. He skimmed his fingertips over the drying sweat and then dug his palms in, feeling the hard muscles of Ian’s back tense and shift. Pulling Ian backward into the study, step by tentative step, Mickey made certain not to disconnect his mouth from Ian’s for the entire journey. He moved steady, reeling Ian in slowly but surely, until Mickey felt the backs of his thighs bump against the wooden surface of the sizable mahogany desk that was Clyde’s usual work surface. Mickey rested his ass on the desktop, half sitting, half standing, and let go of his grip on Ian for just long enough to swipe aside the paperwork that would no doubt get in their way. 

Ian smirked when he saw some papers fly onto the floor, leaning over topple over another stack himself. As he did so, Ian’s eyes skimmed over Mickey’s hand and noticed something peculiar. Mickey’s flashy wedding ring was nowhere to be found. Other than the ever present outline of Mickey’s faded tattoos there was nothing else adorning his fingers besides a now glaringly obvious ring tan. 

The sight triggered something in Ian that no words could describe, a feeling that was so powerful he had no choice but to cradle Mickey’s face in adoration as their lip locking deepened.

Mickey hummed appreciatively at Ian’s insistence and opened himself up entirely. He laved sloppily into Ian’s open mouth, hungry, wanting, aching. His arms rose up, seemingly of their own volition, wrapping around Ian’s neck as they kissed, and sucked and nipped at each other's mouths. Almost on instinct, Mickey’s hips jolted forward, grinding his cock into Ian’s crotch, drawing forth a litany of simultaneous groans from them both.

Mickey’s eyes flashed open, while Ian’s remained tightly shut, screwed together in concentration. Mickey didn’t make a habit of getting this close to anyone, and he certainly didn’t let anyone this far into his own personal bubble. Even Clyde was kept mostly at arms length, until an unavoidable situation presented itself. Now, Ian was so close, Mickey could literally count the man’s fucking eyelashes if he was so inclined, and yet even this wasn’t enough. Mickey wanted to be closer still - until he didn’t know where he ended and Ian began. This was yet another new feeling that Ian had irrevocably introduced into his life, and Mickey didn’t know how to process it, other than to let his eyes close once more and jerk his pelvis forward in another persistent bid to provoke Ian into action. 

At the second thrust, Ian sucked Mickey’s lower lip into his mouth and began to adamantly shove Mickey’s boxers off of his hips. Upon realizing that the view was too good to miss, Ian took a half step back and manhandled Mickey into flipping around, pinning the man’s hips square against the desk. He shifted the boxers lower and lower, until Mickey’s ass was entirely exposed to him. Mickey’s palms made contact with the desktop and his shoulders sagged forward.

“How is your ass is so fucking perfect?” Ian mused aloud letting his hand come down against both of Mickey’s ass cheeks in succession, one at a time. “You really need to start sending me more ass pics. Tell me you will, Mick. I wanna _hear_ it.” He demanded with yet another smack.

Mickey found himself out of breath.There was the dominance again, the thing he so craved but would never ask for. It was like Ian had some implicit awareness of this, although they had never discussed it, and he was generously willing to give Mickey exactly what he needed. “Gonna send you- _hngh-_ more ass pics...” Mickey grunted out, voice catching in the middle of sentence as Ian’s palm came down on his asscheek once again. He heard a low hum of approval from behind him, indicating that Ian appreciated the response. 

Ian placed his palm on the center of Mickey’s back and pushed hard until Mickey’s chest collided with the wood. Mickey immediately compensated by pushing up onto his toes and lifting his ass up higher in the air. Ian ran his fingertips over the perfect curve Mickey was presenting to him and couldn’t help himself from bending over and pressing his lips to the dimple just above Mickey’s ass. 

“Fuckin’ gorgeous, _baby_.” Ian whispered, slipping two fingers down the cleft of Mickey’s ass until they began to rub tight circles against Mickey’s hole. Suddenly, he took a sharp breath, realizing his fingertips were becoming slick with lube.

Mickey’s mind was too busy processing the unexpected term of endearment to notice that Ian was in the midst of discovering exactly how much foresight Mickey had put into their meeting. Sure, he was used to Clyde calling him stupid fucking pet names - Mickey had resisted at first, but he had known from the beginning it was all about the show and so he had ultimately relented. Those were nothing but empty platitudes though, with about as much passion behind them as the last flickering embers of a dying fire. Ian’s felt different somehow, and it seemed to Mickey that it was subconscious - that Ian hadn’t even noticed. Mickey ignored the Southside in him that was screaming that it was all far too soft, and decided to let it slide. 

“Did you-... You got yourself ready for me, didn’t you?” Ian took it upon himself to spread Mickey open to get a better look. “Damn, you’re good.” He delivered another sharp spank to Mickey’s ass and squeezed it in both hands before abruptly letting go and stepping away once again. The minute Mickey felt the warmth disappear from his back, he swung his head from side to side, trying to see what the fuck Ian was up to.

Ian was silent as he traipsed around the wide desk and stood right in front of Mickey. He kicked off his shoes and socks and then whistled to get Mickey’s attention. “Over here, short stack. Put those hands behind your back and watch.” He directed, and as soon as Mickey’s eyes met his, Ian stripped off his tank and took a step closer to the desk as he dropped it to the floor. He popped the button on his shorts and started to unzip them tantalizingly slowly, groaning as the fabric strained over his cock.

Mickey gripped the lip of the desk and stayed still. He only half obeyed Ian’s orders, miffed at being left hanging. Ian had been so close to shoving at least one finger inside of him, and now that the distance between them made that impossible, Mickey didn’t really feel like fucking taking commands.

“Mickey…” Ian growled out. “Look at me. Put. Those hands. Behind. Your back.” He hooked his thumbs under the waistband of both his shorts and underwear, but didn’t budge an inch.

“ _Fuck_! Fine!” Once Mickey realized Ian had paused the show until he listened, he quickly fell into line. With a huff, Mickey lifted his hands from the desk and folded them behind his back, grabbing onto his own wrist and lifting his shoulders as he strained to keep the uncomfortable position. “Happy?” He sneered. 

“I am now. _Good boy_.” Ian smirked, until suddenly his expression shifted to something mirroring concern. He slowly bent sideways to try and observe Mickey’s reaction. He was trying to be subtle but there really wasn’t a way to be subtle about it. “You like when I say that? Call you that shit, I mean.” 

Mickey gazed up at him, stunned temporarily by Ian’s sincerity. The moment of honesty was so unexpected, Mickey almost didn’t know what to say. _Of course_ , he wanted to reply. Everything Ian did got his dick hard. Right now, it was pressing up against the underside of the table, aching more and more by the second. He strained to keep his arms in place, but decided it was worth it to prove his point. “Listen, if there’s anything I don’t like- you’ll fuckin’ know.” Mickey assured him. “Now for fuck’s sake, finish taking your stupid clothes off and come bang the hell outta me already.”’

Ian let out a muted laugh, further turned on by his obvious eagerness. “Yeah. That I can do.” He mumbled and pushed his shorts and boxers off together, stepping out of them as he circled back around the desk, trailing his fingers down the length of one of Mickey’s arms as he positioned himself behind the man yet again. 

Mickey’s mouth dropped open and a hitched breath escaped when he felt Ian press up against him, hard cock nestling firmly between Mickey’s ass cheeks. He had never been so thankful to have prepared beforehand- given that his patience was notoriously thin. Mickey knew it was going to be tight, in fact, he was counting on it. That morning, during his shower, he had made sure to not stretch himself too much - just enough to make things less complicated. The sooner he could get Ian’s cock all up in his guts, the fucking better, in Mickey’s opinion. 

Again, Mickey thought about removing his hands from behind his back, and perhaps bracing himself against the desk, but he decided against it for the second time in a row. Ian would no doubt insist on him moving them back to their original position, and Mickey couldn’t stand to waste more time. Instead, he wriggled backward mischievously, gyrating his hips so Ian’s shaft slid up and down his crack. “Put it in me. Please, _fuck_. Put it in.” Mickey begged, honey and desperation dripping with each word. 

“Well, since you asked so nicely…” Ian pushed his hips against Mickey’s ass to trap him against the desk - his favorite activity, apparently. He wrapped his hand around Mickey’s where they were joined together behind his back. Ian held his cock in his hand and guided himself slowly towards Mickey’s hole, taking a moment to breathe before pushing in. He let out a moan at the initial give, but once the first few inches were buried, Mickey’s walls compressed around him, fitted like a glove. The tight ring of muscles constricted around his cock as he fed it inch after inch, and Ian kept his movements slow and measured- it was becoming more clear by the second that they weren’t working with much lube. 

Ian bit his lip hard enough to draw blood as he finally bottomed out inside of Mickey squeezing hip gently. “You good?” He asked gingerly, eyes focused on the back of Mickey’s head. . 

Mickey could only muster a choked out groan in response. The experience of Ian entering him was just as intense and erotic as their first session, if not slightly more so because of the mounting anticipation. The angle was fantastic as well, and Mickey was already fighting to keep his eyes from crossing - Ian’s cock was buried deep, so fucking deep, and was exerting a consist pressure directly on top of Mickey’s prostate. When Ian didn’t move for a suspiciously long cluster of seconds, Mickey’s chest dropped forward, as he realized that Ian wouldn’t move a muscle until he gave a verbal _all clear_. 

“M’ good- more than good, _Chrissttt_ .” The end of Mickey’s sentence tapered off into a whine as Ian shifted inside of him, pressing even more weight onto Mickey’s prostate. “Just _please_ . Fuckin’ pound my ass, I _want_ it…” 

The sound of Mickey trying to hold himself together sparked an animalistic need in Ian, so powerful he nearly pulled his cock all the way out, just to hear him beg for it again. Ian knew he was going to have Mickey exactly what he asked for, and then some. 

“You might wanna hold onto something…” Ian grunted. He held Mickey’s hips in his hands and retracted himself slightly before delivering the first thrust. He let go of everything other than the warm reassuring weight of Mickey in his hands as he began pounding into Mickey’s ass hard and fast. With the sheer force of his thrusts, Ian managed to lift Mickey clear off the ground without a warning, canting inward sharply to hit Mickey’s prostate like a bullseye. 

Mickey made a strangled, unidentifiable noise as he was hoisted from the floor, and shoved up farther onto the surface of the desk, knocking another flurry of papers to the ground. Ian wasn’t holding back, and Mickey could hardly pry his eyes open as pleasure shot like rockets up his spine and he now wished he’d had more time to actually get a grip on something as Ian had rightfully suggested. 

His entire frame was shaking each time Ian rammed him forward, but with one particularly forceful push, Mickey's fingers became disjoined behind his back. Instead of trying to return to the same position, he grabbed at Ian's hands, where they were planted on either side of Mickey’s hips, keeping him steady as Ian’s punishing thrusts came one after the other, in rapid succession, and it was all Mickey could do to cling on to both of Ian’s wrists for dear fucking life. Ian’s heart skipped a beat as Mickey’s strong fingers wrapped around his wrists, his blunt nails digging into the skin. He looked down over the plane of Mickey’s back, watching the taut muscles contract and expand as he drove himself forward into the man. 

More than anything, Ian wanted to get a hand on Mickey’s cock, but their current position certainly wasn’t giving him any room to do so. He stilled himself deep inside of Mickey’s hole, wrenching his hands free from Mickey’s grip to slide them down the backs of Mickey’s thighs, preparing for his next move.

“Bend your knees and lean back against me.” Ian panted, clutching onto the meat of Mickey’s thighs and guiding him back slowly, helping him adjust into the novel position. Ian almost expected Mickey to make some sort of crack about the difficulty of what he was asking for - questioning Ian’s strength or referencing Cirque de Sole or some other shit. Yet, Mickey said nothing of the sort, merely following Ian’s instructions, lifting his arms over his head and back to clasp around Ian’s neck. 

Ian stayed buried deep inside of Mickey as he held the smaller man against him, taking a few tentative steps backward. They needed more room and the white faux fur rug to the side of the desk was precisely the space that Ian was aiming for. He tested out bouncing Mickey on his cock, and the sounds the action pulled out of both men were heavenly. Mickey continued to buck against him, using their combined strength to both hold himself in place, and keep him impaled on Ian’s cock. 

Once Ian got his bearings, he followed through with the momentum of his movements, using nearly all his strength to swing them around the side of the desk. He felt blinded by pleasure, so it was nothing short of a miracle that he even attempted to move from point A to point B. Due to Ian’s concerted efforts to focus on his next step forward, both he and Mickey failed to detect their fatal mistake until it was far too late. Neither man noticed the ornate wooden stand, or the expensive looking crystal vase perched precariously on the surface of it, until Mickey’s foot collided with it, sending the costly _objet d’art_ careening onto the hardwood. The vase instantly shattered into a million tiny pieces, filling the air with a harsh echoing crash.

“ _Fuckkkk_!” Ian exclaimed as the glass pieces settled, mercifully missing the rug. Mickey grunted something nonsensical as he continued to bounce, clearly not willing to give a shit about anything but getting fucked for the time being. Ian quickly snapped out of his shock as his arms began to shake with the effort of holding Mickey in such a strange position for so long. Finally, he dropped down, one knee at a time, onto the plush rug, sitting back against his heels so that Mickey’s body remained propped against his, their thighs stacked. 

[ ](https://ibb.co/ymTH6sb)

“Keep bouncing on my cock- _fuck_ \- just like that…”Ian whispered huskily into Mickey’s ear as the man on his lap fucked back repeatedly, leaving them both gasping for breath. Without disrupting Mickey’s steady rhythm, Ian slid his hand around Mickey’s waist and reached for his cock, curling his fingers around the leaking member and tugging roughly. Mickey gritted his teeth and groaned, tightening his fingers in Ian’s hair in response. 

Ian’s free hand found Mickey’s left nipple with ease, rubbing and teasing the protruding pink nub as he guided his hips up to meet Mickey’s with measured thrusts. After giving Mickey’s nipple some proper attention, the next obvious course of action was for Ian to trail his hand from the chest, over Mickey’s collarbone and up his neck - higher and higher, until his fingers were cupping Mickey’s chin and breaching into his mouth. Mickey accommodated the intrusion like a champ, suctioning on to two of Ian’s digits.

The sensation almost drove Ian insane. “God, Mick. Gonna cum soon...” He huffed into Mickey’s shoulder, jerking Mickey’s cock frantically, his fist slippery with pre-cum. He straightened up on his knees, further supporting Mickey as he pushed back onto Ian, overwhelmed and overstimulated. 

Mickey could feel the intensity building up in body, starting from that consistent tingle in his stomach, until it was a vibration that was taking over every limb, every synapse in his brain. With virtually no warnings his body shot off like a canon, and an orgasm shook his world. He stilled himself firmly on Ian’s cock, which pressed torturously against his prostate, and let out an unintelligible scream into the palm of Ian’s hand. Ian continued pumping Mickey’s cock, past the point of sensitivity until all Mickey could do was squirm and whine - too exhausted to object. If Mickey had possessed one brain cell left to dedicate to rational thought, Mickey might have noticed that his cum was painting streaks against the rug, but he lost track of it as his eyes rolled to the back of his head - out of sight out of mind. 

“That’s it… just like that. You’re so good. So _fucking_ good.” Ian praised dropping soothing kisses on the back of Mickey’s neck and along his shoulder as Mickey sagged back against him, panting and still riding out the orgasm. Mickey’s skin was burning up and slick with sweat but Ian couldn’t have cared less. Carefully, Ian held on to Mickey’s shoulders and eased him forward slowly until his upper body was resting against the carpet. Mickey just let it happen, too sated to question what was happening, or even be concerned about being face down in streaks of his own cum.

“Gotta keep this ass up for me, Mick. Not done with you yet.” Ian growled, reluctantly unsheathing himself from the warmth of Mickey’s fucked out hole for just long enough to reposition himself, rising up higher on his knees and pressing his tip back in as soon as possible. Ian didn’t give either of them very long to adjust, intent on chasing his own orgasm. He began pounding into Mickey with reckless abandon, letting out a string of curses and gripping Mickey’s hips until his knuckles turned white. Ian maintained the break-neck pace until he felt the little pool of heat in his stomach swell to a point that could no longer be ignored. Lurching back, Ian managed to slide out of Mickey just in time, fucking into his own hand as he came, coating Mickey’s ass with a loud groan. He finished with a shudder and pushed the head of his sensitive cock back inside of Mickey one final time, fucking the cum into him slowly. The sight of Mickey’s ass, painted in his cum, was one that would be forever clear in his mind.

With his last ounce of strength officially drained, Ian draped himself over Mickey’s back and heaved air into his starving lungs, pressing his sweaty forehead between Mickey’s shoulder blades. He could feel the man beneath him still shaking slightly, also attempting to catch his breath. 

“Jesus- _fucking_ -Christ,” Mickey groaned, his words muffled by the way his cheek was still mashed into the carpet, “How are we so goddamn good at this?”

Ian chuckled into Mickey’s skin, and pressed a few tender kisses up his spine, before carefully peeling himself from Mickey’s back. Ian removed his softening cock from Mickey’s hole with a wince and sat back on his heels, appraising his hard work. Mickey’s ass was coated in cum, and Ian figured a few wet wipes weren’t going to cut it in regards to clean up. 

“I dunno. Must be _magic_ ,” Ian snickered, “all I can say is, good thing the carpet is white. Still gonna have to work to get those stains out, I think.” 

Mickey planted one shaky arm in front of himself, and then the other, wobbling slightly as he lifted off of the floor and up onto his knees. He immediately felt Ian’s load shift inside of him, threatening to trickle out with the force of gravity, and he knew he was working with limited time. “Next time maybe don’t use _me_ to try and wipe it up. I’m not a _cumrag_ , fuckhead.” Mickey groused, motioning to the sticky spots littering his chest and even the stray one on his cheek. 

Ian nudged Mickey with his elbow and grinned wickedly. “You… kinda are though,” He teased, and laughed until his chest hurt when Mickey nearly face planted, trying to swing at him. 

When the threat had subsided, Ian found he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Mickey as the man inspected the stains in the carpet. He looked _wild_ \- his dark hair, usually gelled back immaculately, was now rumpled, with the longer strands hanging down in his face. Ian couldn’t help but notice, despite his grouchiness, that Mickey looked… _happy_. A stark contrast from the man he had met only a short time ago. Clyde had taken that from him, and Ian felt privileged to be giving it back - even in small doses. 

“We gotta get you cleaned up,” Ian spoke suddenly. “And then we have to tackle _that_.” He tilted his head, in the general direction of the broken glass scattered in the carpet.

Mickey followed his gaze. “Fuck.” He breathed, and Ian could not have agreed more.

*

“Why the hell do we keep breaking things?” Ian questioned aloud as he picked up the larger pieces of the vase with his bare hands and deposited them in the trash bag. “Like… it’s probably physically impossible for us to have normal, boring sex. Always gotta break something, I guess.” 

They had picked up all of the paperwork and attempted to clean up the rug with wet towels before showering together, more or less managing to do the job. Ian had been delighted to follow Mickey to the same bathroom Mickey had sent him the first round of dick pics from - he would have recognized the infamous counter anywhere. Once they had stepped into the spacious shower, under the warm stream of water, Ian’s hands attached to Mickey’s body like magnets. 

“ _You’re so fucking soft everywhere. It’s unfair._ ” Ian had mumbled into Mickey’s neck as they had soaped each other up with strong smelling body wash. He’s received a smack on the thigh for the compliment, but Mickey had hastily smoothed it over by turning around in his arms and pressing a kiss to his lips. 

Now, the men were back in study, in the midst of cleaning up their unfortunate mess.

“You’re the one who fuckin’ breaks shit,” Mickey accused, sweeping up the smaller shards with a hand held broom and dust pan he’d found in one of Alice’s supply closets. “He fuckin’ _loved_ that vase too. Almost fought some lady for it at an auction a coupla years ago. He’s definitely gonna notice.” Mickey wouldn’t say it, but he knew it was entirely his fault for bring Ian into Clyde’s office to fuck. It had been a risky move all around, but it had been too tempting to resist. Mickey still thought it was worth it.

“Yeah, yeah, sure.. blame _me_ .” Ian grumbled. “Guess it’s my job to find a sturdier surface to fuck you on next time. Preferably one with no breakable shit around it. How are your sofas? The kitchen counter?” His eyes sparkled with mischief. He picked up the last few pieces and then stood up to throw the bag in the trash bin Mickey pointed to. He exhaled slowly and ran a hand through his hair as he stood and watched Mickey finish up with the dustpan. “You’re right though. He _is_ gonna notice… and get pissed at you. Sorry.” He rubbed the back of his neck because he realized this was more evidence of their affair. “I can pay for another ugly ass vase and you can replace it. Tell him you put the other one in storage or something.” He offered, despite knowing that he’d probably have to save for months just to pay for half of the vase they’d just obliterated. 

“Thanks for the offer man, but I’ll just make some shit up. Tell him Baxter knocked it over or some shit. He’ll have a big fuckin’ tantrum, but he’ll get over it. Nothing I can’t handle.” Mickey sniffed and dumped the rest of the glass into the trash, tying the bag off. 

In an effort to make the situation even a tiny bit better, Ian shuffled over to Mickey and swung his arm around the man’s waist, pulling him in for a chaste kiss. He fucking hated the way Mickey appeared so resigned to being treated like garbage, but he also knew how poorly received his last attempt to intervene had gone. The last thing he wanted to do was to add to Mickey’s mounting frustration. As he pulled back from Mickey’s lips, Ian decided upon a better course of action.

“Speaking of Baxter, where are the dogs hiding?” Ian wondered.

Mickey shrugged and allowed Ian to kiss him softly. The casual affection was still new, but he was getting used to it. He - for once - _wanted_ to get used to it. “Probably asleep up in the bedroom. Mimsy likes to curl up on Clyde’s side of the bed, and Baxter thinks he’s her bodyguard or some shit, so he always sticks close to her.” Mickey grinned up at Ian. “I can see if they’ll come when I call, if you want? They need to be fed soon anyway.” He glanced at the clock on the wall and saw that more time had passed than he had anticipated, but Alice still wouldn’t be arriving for at least another hour or so. “We’ve got time.”

“Yeah, ” Ian smiled warmly and brushed his hand through Mickey’s wet hair, “I’d like that”

  
  


*

Ian had only just settled down on the living room floor as Mickey called the dogs downstairs, and he certainly hadn’t been expecting to be laid flat on his back as he beasts tore through the room and attacked him with wet muzzles and slobbering kisses. Their naps had undoubtedly reenergized them, and as Ian tried to give the happy dogs some affection, he found himself woefully outnumbered. He was thrown into a fit of uncontrollable laughter as Mimsy climbed across his body, and from his prone position, Ian could only manage to weakly scratch the scruff of Baxter’s neck. Mickey watched the show with stars in his eyes, chuckling as Baxter lapped his tongue across Ian’s entire face, coating him in drool.

For the next hour, Mickey and Ian spoke about nothing in particular, simply enjoying each other's company as they took turns wrestling with the mutts until they had worn themselves out. Eventually, Mickey had plunked himself down on one of the living room sofas, beer in hand. He’d offered one to Ian, but the man had declined, making a foolish joke about how he’d rather some sweet tea instead. 

Ian had positioned himself on the floor in front of Mickey, resting his back half on the sofa and half on Mickey’s leg, tilting his head back to make conversation every time Baxter ran off to fetch a toy. He couldn’t help but smile each time Mickey tried to get Baxter’s attention, only to be ignored by the pup in favor of Ian.

Sooner than either man would have liked, Ian’s phone rang with a random robocall, alerting them both to the time. It was well into the afternoon and Ian reluctantly suggested that he should get going before they got into any more trouble, he stood up slowly, stretching his nearly atrophied limbs, causing the dogs to circle around his feet and bark at him.

“Aww, sorry guys, but I gotta go.” Ian squatted down, much like he did when he first met them, and gave them a few heartfelt goodbye pets. “You got treats or something? I feel bad for leaving ‘em like this.” He looked up at Mickey, and for a split second, Mickey could have sworn the statement had a double meaning.

“Oh, uh, sure. Hold on lemme go get ‘em.” Mickey picked himself up from the couch, clutching his empty beer bottle and disappearing in the direction of the kitchen. He reappeared moments later, with a few bone shaped treats clutched in his hand. “Baxter can swallow these bitches whole, but you gotta break ‘em up into thirds for the ol’ lady.” Mickey pointed at Mimsy who was now panting from the exertion of barking so frantically, as Baxter galloped in circles around her. “Or else she’ll choke to death, and I’m _not_ fucking explaining that one away.” It was a morbid joke, Mickey knew, but he grinned when Ian laughed all the same. 

“God, Mick. I’m not gonna break your dog- or kill her. Have a little faith. I mean look at this fuckin’ adorable face.” He cooed at her, scratching behind her ears and pecking her nose. Ian broke a chunk off of one of the treats and fed the small piece to her, before tossing a whole one to Baxter, who caught it swiftly in his mouth. 

Mickey watched Ian’s careful handling of the dogs, and felt the clenching in his chest that by now indicated to him that something deep inside of him was shifting, changing. He had _feelings_ for Ian - the realization he had yet to come to terms with smacked him dead in the face. _Real_ feelings, that weren’t just about sex, or power, or security. Mickey _liked_ him, wanted to spend more and more time with him - playing with the dogs, fooling around, just _talking_. Ian was working his way slowly but surely into the parts of him that Mickey had long since thought were broken - dead even. 

“You’re… fuckin’ _adorable,_ man.” Mickey breathed out, surprising himself. He didn’t use words like that. He wasn’t the type of person to think things were adorable, or cute, or - God forbid - _precious_. It was just another subtle transformation, elicited by Ian. 

Ian’s face took on a red hue as he stood up, causing him to look bashful as all hell. “Um thanks. I try...” He chuckled, and tried masking his awkwardness by taking a step closer to Mickey. “You are too. For the record.” 

Mickey knew he pulled a face, rolling his eyes and scrunching his nose up in mock annoyance. Ian pointed at him with a laugh. “You just proved my point, man.” He smiled and reeled Mickey in by the waist, tugging him a step closer. “I… I had a lot of fucking fun today, Mickey. I… want to see you again. Soon.” Ian whispered, looking into Mickey’s eyes before leaning in to nose along Mickey’s hairline. 

Mickey let his forehead rest against Ian’s lips and allowed his eyes to drop close. “Same here,” He murmured, taking in the faint scent of his own body wash, wafting from Ian’s skin. “Wish this shit didn’t have to be so… feel so…” Mickey huffed out a sigh. “Pretty sure this shit is supposed to feel wrong. But it fuckin’ _doesn’t_.”

“We just… we click. It works. It’s _good._ How could something so good be _wrong_?” He spoke against Mickey’s forehead and then pulled to look at him seriously. “So what are we going to do?” He asked softly, his hand caressing Mickey’s cheek, working gentle patterns with his thumb. 

Mickey leaned into the touch. God, he felt so fragile, so unbelievably weak for Ian. It was too much, too fast, but Mickey didn’t know how to slow it down, and he was becoming increasingly convinced he couldn’t, even if he had wanted to. He realized in that moment that there was no game plan. No correct path to choose. And so, instead of providing a coherent answer to Ian’s question, Mickey bent forward and kissed him. 

It was a slow, smoldering kiss. One that held a different meaning, a different purpose, than any of the previous ones. It wasn’t about a pent up need for sex or affection. It wasn’t sloppy or desperate, but Mickey knew it would leave him breathless all the same.

Ian held Mickey’s close, wrapping him up in his arms, wishing more than anything that he could steal Mickey away from the house. Away from Clyde. Away from an empty life. He knew it wasn’t possible - not yet, anyway. But the urge was powerful, and it made Ian’s skin itch to be unable to act upon it. 

“I’ll let you know when the coast is clear, alright?” Mickey said sincerely, once he had forced himself to pull away from Ian’s lips. “The minute his ass is gone for more than a few hours, you’ll be back, you hear me?”

Ian nodded, but took an extra moment to press his forehead against Mickey’s, shutting his eyes tightly and committing everything about the man to memory - just in case their time apart was somehow extended for longer than anticipated. 

Little did Ian know, Mickey was doing the same.

*

Alice had reached the Miller house by 2:30 pm that Saturday and she had gone about her business, cooking and cleaning as usual. She hadn’t seen much of Mickey after a few hours in the mansion, and she assumed he was hidden somewhere - in his lavish rec room, most likely. She let the dogs out into the backyard and picked up after them to ensure that he wouldn’t need to be disturbed. 

The rest of the weekend passed the same as always, and Alice came and went of her own accord. She was aware she only needed to cook for one since Dr. Miller was out of town, and so chose dishes that she knew Mickey enjoyed - burgers, tamales, pizza - things she also knew Mickey’s husband would not have approved of in the slightest. Helping Mickey defy the old blow hard never failed to put a smile on Alice’s face.

It was on Sunday night, however, that Alice came across a shard of glass as she was mopping the study floors. She found another two pieces under the wooden stand and then noticed that Dr. Clyde’s prized vase was nowhere to be found. Her eyes widened and she finished mopping the rest of the room quickly before searching for Mickey, who she found lounging in the living room.

“Mickey, I- the vase in the study is gone.” She informed him.

Mickey turned to her with a cool expression, as if he had been expecting the moment to arrive. He had been slumped on the couch, with his phone screen inches from his face, and Alice had noticed how quickly he tucked it away when she entered the room. 

“Oh shit, yeah. I meant to say something to you but I forgot.” He began to explain, stretching his legs out casually and yawning before continuing. “I was playing fetch with Baxter in the hall and Clyde left his stupid office door open. The ball rolled in and- well you know how fuckin’ nuts Baxter goes over that ball. Guess he musta ran into the stand, ‘cause all I heard was a crash. Tried to clean it up for ya.” 

“O-oh, well, thank you. That was nice of you.” Alice gave Mickey a suspicious once over. Every member of the staff knew of Clyde’s strict ‘ _no dogs in the study_ ’ policy. She also knew that it was a rule frequently violated by Mickey in his husband’s absence. “I think I got the rest of it, but you and Dr. Miller might want to be careful and wear shoes in there for a few days.” 

She left it at that, walking away to start stashing her cleaning supplies in the hallway closet. Her eyes kept flickering back over to Mickey on his phone on the sofa, reminding her so much like her son, Nico, that her heart ached. He had been visiting for a week, and soon had to return to his wife and kids in Mexico. Mickey had been kind enough to allow her some extra time off to visit with him, and she was grateful for it. 

Alice couldn’t avoid noticing how happy Mickey appeared now, pulling out his phone once he thought she was no longer looking and grinning down at the screen. Her motherly _sixth sense_ told her something was definitely afoot, and she hoped for Mickey’s sake that it was something that he could contain and control. 

She knew Clyde wasn’t a violent man, per se, but she certainly had seen enough to know that getting on his shit list would be a _very_ unwise decision. 

*

In general, Clyde considered himself to be an intelligent person. You didn’t get to be the owner of one of Chicago’s most elite dentistry practices by being slow on the uptake. Sure, the family money helped. However, aside from paying his tuition and purchasing his expensive office located on prime real estate in Downtown Chicago, Clyde considered each of his diplomas, certifications, and awards to be proof that he was a cut above the rest, intellectually speaking. 

Therefore, as he reflected on the recent events in his life on the drive home from yet another dull dentistry conference he was compelled to attend - Clyde was certain that whatever he seemed to be overlooking wasn’t due to a lack of brains on his part. 

There was something, though. Something that was floating just outside of his awareness. He had noticed a change in Mickey’s behavior weeks ago, and things had only gotten more bizarre ever since. First, it had been coldness, disinterest. Mickey had never been a particularly warm person, but he had always kept in mind what he _owed_ a lot to Clyde - and Clyde made sure he would never forget it. Given the absolute filth and poverty his husband had grown up in, it was no wonder that Mickey had wisely chosen to fit himself into Clyde’s life however he could, making the necessary changes to accommodate the reputation Clyde had built up for himself. 

Mickey had only grown more compliant over the years, which is why the sudden change in attitude was so jarring to Clyde. Initially, and perhaps foolishly, Clyde chose to more or less overlook the coldness- he had better things to do than to worry about whatever little fit of pique Mickey was indulging himself in. Besides, his husband was still putting out, still more or less completing the work Clyde perpetually assigned him. 

Then, the pool chair went missing. He was sure that Mickey had lied straight to his face about it, without so much as a blink. It had filled Clyde with something akin to rage, knowing that Mickey thought him stupid enough to not know how many chairs he had surround his own pool. Clyde hadn’t pressed the issue, though, mainly because he couldn’t for the life of him put two and two together and figure out _why_ he was being lied to. That evening he had allowed Mickey to distract him with sex - but all the while, unbeknownst to his husband, Clyde was seething. An imbalance of power was in the works, tipping the scale in a dangerous direction. 

What happened next, was even more unpredictable. Several days later, Clyde had noticed yet another change in his husband’s demeanor. He seemed to be smiling more, laughing more, although he wasn’t any less distant. This troubled Clyde further - the idea that something or _someone_ else might be worming their way into Mickey’s mind and setting up shop, undoing all the work Clyde had invested into Mickey over the years. 

And to make matters worse, he had been thoroughly disappointed by the job the new pool boy had done. Clyde had been expecting the pool to be immaculate, and yet it appeared the man had not done his job. Clyde had been planning an event - a gathering of sorts, hosted in the spacious backyard of his gorgeous home. He arranged these sorts of parties every few months, inviting prestigious colleagues and their families, intent on impressing the correct individuals - the ones that would only further his social standing. He would hire a caterer, and have his guests feast on imported cheese and vintage wine - all of which would be ruined if his pool looked like something out of a horror movie. 

As the exit signs for Chicago appeared before him, Clyde gripped the wheel a little tighter. He hoped, for the sake of his sanity, that Mickey would not be acting so strangely by the time he arrived home. 

And, that godforsaken pool boy better have done his job right this time or there'd be hell to pay.

*

Clyde arrived home late into the evening, well after the sun had set, throwing the quiet Northside neighborhood into pitch darkness - all except for a few well placed streetlights. Upon closing the door behind him, Clyde hung up his blazer on the coat rack in the foyer and headed further into his home, spotting Mickey in the living room - a strange change of pace, to be sure. He called for Emilio on his way over to Mickey, watching the weekday errand-boy appear out of thin air. “Grab the bags out of my trunk, would you?” Clyde requested, tossing the keys to the man. It would be the last task Emilio would have to complete before he was sent home, and Clyde could see how eager he was to finish up for the day. Finally, once Emilio scurried out of sight, Clyde turned his attention to Mickey. 

“Hello, dear.” He stood in front of Mickey, waiting for his husband to take his eyes off of the gigantic wall-mounted flat screen and acknowledge his presence. 

“Uh… hey. Good trip?” Mickey replied shortly, barely glancing at his husband before his eyes were drawn back to the tv. He had no way of knowing that Ian had recommended the show to Mickey, and that Mickey had been binge-watching it since Ian had left, texting his reactions to pivotal scenes. He had stashed his phone between the couch cushions before Clyde had a chance to see it out - he didn’t want to give Clyde another shred of ammunition against him. 

“Oh, god no. You know how useless those events are for me. I just have to show my face.” Clyde bent forward, placing both hands on the couch cushions on either side of Mickey’s head and puckered his lips for a kiss. 

Mickey complied, leaning up for a quick peck, but yet again something didn’t feel right to Clyde. Like many of Mickey’s recent acts of affection, it seemed hollow and unfeeling. The minute Mickey pulled back, his eyes went straight back to the tv screen, and he leaned to the side, away from Clyde in order to keep watching. 

“You’re watching something _that_ interesting?” Clyde questioned, becoming miffed at Mickey’s unwillingness to pay him even a shred of attention. He righted himself and turned his attention to the tv, scratching his beard with one finger as he tried to make out what show it was. “Wait a minute… I tried to convince you to watch _Game of Thrones_ with me for the last 6 years! Now, you’re watching it by yourself?!” He exclaimed, flabbergasted. 

“Yep,” Mickey replied simply, his eyes glued to the screen. He dug into the bag of chips he’d been snacking on, throwing a handful into his mouth. Once he realized that Clyde seemed unsatisfied with this answer, he swallowed and spoke around the remainder of the chips. “Didn’t think it’d be this entertaining.” 

“Uh huh… that’s why everyone in the world was obsessed with it at one point in time.” Clyde shook his head at Mickey, ignoring the way he was dropping chip crumbs onto himself and the sofa. “Well, I’m going to put away some of my things in my study before I go up to bed. Finish up this episode and then we’ll go together.” As per usual, he made the decision for both of them, scooping up his free tote bag full of giveaways from the conference. He walked over to his office, barely loosening his tie. 

Clyde flicked the light switch and moved into the room, picking up the scent of the lemon wood polish that Alice uses to clean the floors - he had always loved that smell. At first glance, he noticed the papers on his desk were in slight disarray and wondered what Mickey had done to shuffle them up so much. He set his laptop to charge and then started filing papers and important business cards away, before throwing everything else from the conference into the trash. 

Clyde glanced around his office, and it was only then that it hit him that something was horrendously off about the room. His mouth dropped open as he located the stand where his precious vase was supposed to be resting - only to find it empty. Once he had finished digesting this sight, and its implications, Clyde let out an anguished, shrill scream. 

“ _MICKEY_!”

*

When Mickey heard the commotion, his stomach dropped, as did his phone, and the half-eaten bag of chips. 

_Fucking hell,_ he cursed to himself, scrambling like mad up from the couch and booking his way down the hall towards Clyde’s study, leaving his phone behind. Mickey braced himself as much as he could, rehearsing the falsehoods he was about to unleash. He had been going over them in his head for hours, getting his story straight, but he still felt wholly unprepared to face the music. 

Mickey skidded to a stop in the doorway of the study, coming face to face with his husband, who looked several times more unhinged than he had only moments ago. “Jesus! Where’s the fucking fire?” Mickey exclaimed, hoping the false ignorance would be his savior. 

“Mikhailo Aleksandr Miller! Explain to me where the _FUCK_ is my _LIMITED EDITION_ _SWAROVSKI_ vase is, right this second!” His eyes were bulging out of his skull in an unhealthy way for someone his age. He looked like he was about to have an aneurysm, if the veins pulsing on his neck and forehead were any indication. He was shaking with anger and he remained deadly silent to listen to what Mickey had to say. 

“Oh yeah, about that..” Mickey was desperately trying to keep his head level, which was difficult in the face of Clyde’s seething rage. “I shoulda said something sooner. I was playing fetch with Bax yesterday and-” Mickey paused mid story, seeing Clyde’s face growing a darker shade of red. “Anyway- long story short, the study door was open and I guess the ball rolled in here. I dunno, all I heard was a huge fuckin’ crash and-“ 

“You-You just let him- _WHAT_ ?! Come in here and break my shit when _YOU KNOW THEY’RE NOT ALLOWED TO BE IN HERE_ ? Fucking _imbecile_ , do you know how _EXPENSIVE_ that was? You probably don’t even care, do you? Jesus, I can’t even look at you. Get out of my face!” Clyde was still seething and he didn’t want to do anything he’d regret, and so he waved Mickey away angrily. 

Mickey swallowed thickly and felt the world slow down around him. He knew what he should have done. He should have taken the out, turned on his heels and walked away. The Mickey that Clyde had so carefully curated over the last few years of marriage would have said nothing. Done nothing. And yet, Mickey felt his anger rattling cage where he had kept it safely locked away. Without warning, the cage seemed to disintegrate inside of him, and Mickey’s blood boiled until it over flowed. 

“Why the fuck do you think you get to treat me like such a goddamn idiot, huh!? It was a fucking _accident_ !” Mickey erupted, and found some instant gratification in the way Clyde balked at him in shock. It was motivation enough to continue, throwing his hands up and pounding his fist into the door frame. “Just ‘cause you’re old enough to be my fuckin’ dad doesn’t mean you get to treat me like a fuckin’ child, _Clyde_.” 

Wide eyed, Clyde’s mouth dropped open, perhaps to respond, but Mickey wasn’t about to listen. He’d had enough of being pushed around. “Nah, fine! It’s cool! In fact, send me to my fuckin’ room while your at it! Might as fuckin’ well!”

“Well M-” Clyde began, but Mickey had already stormed out of the study. He cautiously took a few steps forward to stand in the doorway and watch Mickey stomp through the living room. Interestingly, Mickey paused at the sofa and picked up his phone with a frustrated huff before heading towards the steps, leading down to the rec room. 

*

Mickey (9:47): _So fucking over this bullshit, man. Gonna fucking strangle him._

Ian (9:47): _What’d he do now?_

Mickey was a little surprised by the immediate reply, but they had just been texting back and forth about the show for an hour. It seemed like Ian had turned on the same episode and was watching it with him because he had known exactly what was happening and every turn of the plot. 

Mickey put his phone in his pocket after reading the message, too angry to type it out at the moment. He focused on racing down the stairs to the rec room, and when he shut the door behind him, he really wished there was a lock on it to keep that menace out. That needed to change. 

Mickey walked right over to the liquor cabinet, convinced he needed something stronger than beer to stop him from losing his mind entirely. He plucked a bottle of whiskey off the top shelf and took the lid right off, tossing it somewhere over his shoulder as he wrapped his fist around the neck of the bottle - almost tight enough to crack the glass - before chugging down a healthy mouthful. Mickey pulled the bottle away from his mouth and winced at the dull burn that migrated from his throat to his lungs, setting him aflame from the inside out. He wiped away the droplets on his lips with the back of his free hand, glaring around the room as he looked for something to break. Quickly, he realized destroying his own property was pointless - this was all of his own nice shit that he picked out to enjoy. What he really wanted to do was break something of Clyde’s - _another_ something. _Asshole deserves it_ , Mickey thought as he made his way to his sectional and stretched out on the longest part of the sofa. He pulled out his phone, taking another swig from the bottle and noticed a few more messages from Ian. 

Ian (9:50): _??_

Ian (9:52): _You good?_

Ian (9:55): _Look, if you need me I’m here._

Ian (9:55): _Whenever you need me._

Ian groaned and threw his head back against his headboard as he read back his last few messages to Mickey. _Did they sound nice or way too desperate?_ Ian asked himself. Only time, and Mickey, would tell. But, it was a reasonable thing to say for someone in their situation. Mickey could rely on him for more than just an amazing fuck. They were fuck buddies, sure, but if the events of the wekend had indicated anything, they were also something much deeper. Ian _cared_ about him. 

He looked over at his laptop and closed out of the episode that he’d paused when Mickey had stopped texting the first time, assuming Mickey stopped watching because he got bored. Ian had the fortune of forgetting that Clyde was returning to the Miller home that day - Mickey did not. 

Mickey reread the texts in his notification center without clicking on them. He wanted to open the messages and start ranting to Ian about every shitty thing about his husband, starting with the screaming match over the stupid vase, but he paused. He considered what unloading all of that baggage would do to Ian. For once in his life, he actually considered someone else’s feelings before opening his mouth, or in this case, letting his fingers fly across his keyboard. Telling Ian that the fight was about the vase that they broke _together_ , would no doubt cause Ian to be stricken with overwhelming guilt, taking all the blame like the lovable martyr he was. Instead, Mickey chose a more vague approach.

Mickey (9:59): _Picking fights and being a dick as always. What’s new?_

Ian (10:02): _You wanna tell me about it?_

Mickey (10:04): _Nah it’s stupid. I got a whole bottle of whiskey and I’m talking to u now. Asshole can keep screaming at a wall for all I care._

Ian (10:05): _Well the least I could do is help take your mind off of it._

Ian (10:05): _You alone?_

Mickey’s eyebrows surged to his hairline so fast they might as well have been a plane taking off. Was Ian really about to go there? _Damn, Red and his stamina. Shit._ He reached down and palmed himself before responding. 

Mickey (10:06): Yeah

Then there was an incoming Facetime call from PB - no contact photo of course - and Mickey’s eyebrows could _not_ get any higher. He was stunned and immediately put his phone on silent so that Clyde wouldn’t hear his phone ringing, forgetting that he was in a soundproof room in the midst of his paranoia. Mickey’s tongue shot out of his mouth, wetting his lips as he started back at himself in the front-facing camera of his phone. He slowly swiped his finger across the screen to answer and then felt the corners of his mouth turn up when he laid eyes on the messy-haired ginger.

“Hey.” Ian smiled softly and gave Mickey a small wave. 

“Uh hey, what’s... uh, _this_ for?” Mickey asked, thumbing at his nose and trying not to stare too hard at the pattern on Ian’s pillowcase and sturdy-looking headboard - one that could definitely hold restraints - if one was into such things.. 

“Well, you said you didn’t want to talk about it so I figured we could just talk about something else. Phone was dying anyway, so I plugged it in and called on my laptop.” Ian moved across Mickey’s screen as he adjusted the laptop around to place it on his second pillow and he rolled onto his side. His green and blue comforter was pulled up close around him, settling just barely over his pink nipple. 

“Okay…” Mickey dragged out the word, running a hand through his hair to distract himself from how hot and bothered he was becoming, solely due to the intimate view of Ian in his natural habitat. He exhaled sharply after puffing out his cheeks and then inhaled another swig from the bottle before looking at the time on his phone. “Why are you in bed so fuckin’ early, grandpa?” 

Ian’s lips formed a tight line for a second, before he gave Mickey a practiced, but kind smile. “I’m just a little tired. Gotta get my rest before I have to wake up at an ungodly hour for my shift at the station.” Somewhere in there was the truth, but Ian didn’t want to elaborate. His disorder wasn’t going to be a topic of conversation in their first Facetime call, especially not one centered around making Mickey feel better 

“Uh huh. You work a lot.” Mickey casually observed, instead of a question for Ian.

“Yeah it keeps me busy… you know what they say about idle hands.” Ian watched Mickey take another drink and then decided to actually do what he’d promised by taking Mickey’s mind off of Clyde and his never ending bullshit. He hadn’t forgotten about the broken vase but it also wasn’t something he needed to ask Mickey about right this second. He decided to take pity on the man and initiate a longer conversation, by asking questions himself. “Where are you right now? That’s a nice couch.” He asked about the black leather that flanked either side of Mickey’s head. 

“In the rec room. Needed a drink and space to fuckin’ breathe, so I ended up down here, as always.” Without prompting on Ian’s part. Mickey flipped the camera around and scanned the room to show its contents.

Ian complimented the two things that stood out to him, the arcade machines and the pool table. That prompted - easily - a twenty minute explanation for each machine - what game it was, where Mickey had found it and how to play. Ian couldn’t help but be entertained when Mickey responded so passionately about the topic. He laid there, smiling and quietly listening. He asked a few follow ups once Mickey seemed to finish, and Ian was pleased to notice that Mickey had left the whisky bottle untouched as they talked. If that was the only thing that came of the call, Ian considered it to be more than successful.After a comfortable lull in conversation, where the men had been reduced to just smiling stupidly at each other, Ian took another leap forward. 

“Hey, by the way… I was serious about what I said earlier.” He whispered to Mickey. “I know you said you don’t want to talk about it, but... anything you _do_ want to talk about - we can. I’m always just a phone call away.” He knew was blushing again because his face felt hot to the touch when his cheek brushed against his hand accidentally. He tried to hide it in the pillow, but he was sure Mickey would be looking at him like he was an alien as he wiggled one cheek at a time against the cool surfaces on the underside of the pillow. 

Then Ian finally looked back at the screen, he was met with the softest look that the beautiful soul on the other side of the phone could muster, accompanied by a sweet, dopey smile.

“I know, Ian. Trust me, I know.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! What an ending. Thank you all for reading! We've got a lot more in the works (just outlined another fun chapter coming soon), so we're planning on taking another break to write. The next chapter will be posted on November 8th. ❤️


	10. Just let me know when.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, thanks so much for your patients with waiting for this chapter! It’s our longest yet and we put a lot of love and time into it, so the support we’ve been getting means a lot to us!
> 
> As always, here’s where you can reach us!
> 
> Jinlin5: Insta (@gallavich_doodles) // Tumblr (@doodlevich)
> 
> camnoelgallavich: Insta (@cam.monaghanfan) // Twitter (@cam_monaghanfan)
> 
> Without further ado, enjoy! <3

##  **Tuesday Morning**

Clyde hadn’t felt Mickey slip into bed that night, and yet his husband was there when he had awoken in the morning, albeit scrunched up so far on the opposite side of the mattress one would have imagined he was trying to avoid contracting the plague. Clyde was under no false pretences - he’d pushed Mickey a hair too far the night before, and although he still thought himself completely justified, he hadn’t seen the young man react that way to him in a long while. He hated to even acknowledge it, yet Clyde knew it was just another sign that he was rapidly losing his foothold in Mickey’s life, and the very notion that Mickey would revert back to the person he had been when they had met, chilled Clyde to the very bone. 

For this reason, and for this reason _only_ , Clyde decided to ‘apologize’ in the only way he could imagine Mickey accepting - by purchasing the greasiest and most repulsive looking items on IHOP’s menu for his husband’s breakfast. He made sure to have it delivered around noon, the approximate time that Mickey would eventually be crawling out of bed looking for sustenance. A verbal apology would fall on deaf ears anyway, therefore it wasn’t worth attempting to say in the first place. 

In the meantime, Clyde allowed himself to sleep for half an hour longer than usual before emerging from the master suite to inspect the pool for himself. He hadn't gotten around to it when he had returned home the night before, and now was as good a time as any to make certain he had no angry calls to place to the pool cleaning service. He donned his rashguard and board shorts, sending one last glance in the direction of Mickey’s sleeping form on the bed as he made his way out to the hall closet in search of his snorkeling gear. Clyde was aware that there was no real reason to wear the heavy equipment in his pool, since it was barely eight feet deep at the deepest point. But being the self proclaimed showoff he was, Clyde was more than proud of the fact that he’d been snorkeling in the Caribbean seven times, and pulled out the equipment at any opportunity. 

The morning air was dry and heavy, and Clyde could already tell it was gearing up to be a scorching summer day as he stripped of his robe and snorkeling gear by the pool side and dove into the water. He found everything to be clean and crystal clear upon closer inspection, and he sighed with slight disappointment, as a small part of him wished to have someone to call and complain to, if only to have a target for his frustrations other than the man who was causing them. Clyde began moving through the water, letting himself enjoy the feeling of weightlessness. 

He was wrapped up in his own thoughts as he swam laps back and forth from one side of the sizable pool to the other, occasionally dipping deep below the water. For this reason, Clyde hadn’t seen his husband approaching until he broke the surface of the water to catch his breath at the poolside, and found himself face-to-face a pair of horribly scuffed Timberlands. He inhaled a deep breath as his eyes slid up Mickey’s stocky body, all the way to his face. 

[ ](https://ibb.co/kKj20B1)

Mickey was clad in light wash jeans and a fitted long sleeved maroon shirt, which looked exceedingly dark against the backdrop of his alabaster skin. He appeared composed and pulled together, as if he was ready for an outing, which confused Clyde thoroughly. It was hardly like Mickey to be awake and functional so early in the day, let alone up and ready to leave the house in any presentable fashion. Clyde had long since made himself accustomed to his husband’s laziness - Mickey was perpetually waiting up until the last minute to dress himself for whatever function Clyde had seen fit to bring him to. Even walking the dogs, Mickey typically wouldn’t change out of his pajamas, and the very thought of the entire neighborhood seeing his husband in such a disheveled state mortified Clyde to no end.

“You’re dressed.” Clyde panted up at Mickey. It was an observation more than a question, but Clyde’s wariness was more than evident in his tone. 

“Uh, yep.” Mickey responded, his disposition strikingly calm compared to the previous night. He leered over Clyde, feeling pleased at the perplexed expression on his husband's face. Shoving his hand into the pocket of his jeans, he pulled out a set of car keys and jingled them above his husband's head in a manner that almost seemed taunting. “I’m goin’ out.”

Clyde furrowed his brows and narrowed his eyes, running a hand through the wet hair plastered to his forehead, dragging it away from his face. “Out? Where is out?” He questioned, although he had a feeling - simply based on the way Mickey was carrying himself - that an answer would not be forthcoming. 

Mickey leveled his husband with a vacant gaze. “Just out. Don’t worry about it.” He realized the statement sounded beyond suspicious, but he had formed a plan before crawling into bed the night before, and Mickey was intent on following through with it. 

Clyde tried his best to hide his shock and the twinge of annoyance at Mickey’s vague answer. He folded his arms in front of him on the edge of the poolside, and took a moment to contain himself, avoiding another outburst. He’d done some damage the night before, and watching Mickey buck back had been eye opening. Clyde was beginning to realize he needed to hold back if he wanted to regain his authority in the relationship. 

“Okay, dear. When will you be home? I’m thinking of inviting some friends over today since I’ve decided to take the next few days off. That conference really exhausted me. I need time to recover.” Clyde relayed all of the information to Mickey succinctly, knowing that dictating Mickey’s schedule was always a sure fire way to recapture some of the control he craved. It never failed to remind Mickey of his limitations - of his place. 

“Not sure. Later.” Mickey kept up the pattern of short replies. The idea of having people over sounded like torture; almost as excruciating as the idea of his husband hanging around the house all day, every day for fuck knows how long, but he refused to let Clyde phase him. Without another word, Mickey backed away, turning on his heels and heading for the gate. Clyde’s gaze followed him as he walked, laser focused on his back, but Mickey pretended to feel nothing. 

Unlocking the gate and pushing through, Mickey circled around to the large garage attached to the house, where Clyde stored his collection of cars. Clyde Miller was the type of man to have a different make and model of expensive automobile for every occasion - although Clyde knew absolutely nothing about how they functioned. 

Mickey pressed the button on the garage door opener attached to his key ring and tapped his boot against the walkway as he waited for the door to fold upwards, housing itself compactly. He ducked underneath just as the door had surpassed head height, and hurried past two rows of Clyde’s vehicles until he found the only one that belonged to him. Mickey had insisted upon getting the car in his name when Clyde purchased the car for him right after their nuptials. Although, at that time, Mickey had just wanted to own _something_ of his own.

The car was an all black Lamborghini Urus and it was definitely the most expensive object Mickey had ever owned. Out of all of Clyde’s obnoxious gifts over the years: Versace sunglasses, Hermes belts, fucking _man purses_ \- it was the only thing that Mickey had actually _wanted,_ and therefore he had made sure the beast of a car solely belonged to him. He’s sure Clyde was regretting the decision now.

Mickey slid the keys into his pocket and opened the door with the fancy touchless key entry that he would never quite get used to, climbing up into the SUV and swinging his body into the driver’s seat. He’d barely used the car in the six years since he’d been gifted it, and so the leather interior was as pristine as the day it had been driven off the lot. Mickey eased his foot onto the brake and pressed the _touch to start_ button, a smile spreading across his face as the engine roared to life. There was something about holding so much horsepower in his hands that turned him the fuck on. _Hm, this must be what Ian feels like, with that fuckin' monster between his legs,_ Mickey snickered aloud at his own joke.

Mickey reversed quickly out of the narrow parking space and shifted into drive, pulling out of the garage. He pressed the button again, and watched in his rearview mirror as the garage door descended behind him. Without another moment of hesitation, Mickey dropped his foot on the gas and cleared the driveway in a flash, speeding around the cul-de-sac faster than he most likely should have. 

With his mind clear and his purpose singular, Mickey felt something that was almost akin to freedom. After talking to Ian, late into the night, he’d begrudgingly made the decision to crawl into bed beside his husband. Ian had managed to get his anger down to a simmer, and although Mickey would have far preferred to curl up on the couch in the rec room and not have had to lay eyes on Clyde; the beginnings of his plan had already taken hold. 

After he’d made it into bed, Mickey had laid awake beside his sleeping husband, silently fuming. Clyde’s every breath and movement irritated him further, so he worked hard to drown them out, focusing his thoughts and planning his next course of action. 

Now that the time had arrived, Mickey was sure that he was doing the right thing. Before long, Mickey had pulled up to a small family owned hardware store, located only a few blocks from the regular Northside shopping district. He parked directly in front of the store, grabbed his wallet and phone from the passenger's seat, and hastily climbed out of the car, locking it behind him. Several people exited the store, and Mickey held back, waiting under an awning until the coast was clear for him to head inside. Although he knew he had nothing to hide at the moment, Clyde's friends lived all over the Northside, and so naturally he could never be too careful when he went out. Privacy was never a guarantee.

A small bell chimed as Mickey opened the door and stepped into the quaint hardware store, alerting a portly older woman behind the nearby service counter that a new customer had arrived. She tucked her pencil behind her ear and wiped her hands in the thick blue apron wrapped around her waist before stepping out from behind the counter and approaching Mickey. 

“Hello there, sir,” The woman greeted in an overly enthusiastic manner. Mickey’s eyes scanned over her name tag - _Agnes_ scrawled in loopy handwriting, “It’s a beautiful day out there!” 

Mickey nodded in agreement, all the while thinking that if he hadn’t looked so well put together, or if he hadn't been holding a set of car keys with a tiny Lamborghini logo etched into the fob, the woman would have no doubt ignored his presence altogether. 

Agnes clasped her hands in front of her. “Is there anything I can help you find today, sir?” She questioned, eyeing Mickey expectantly, ready to find whatever he was looking for. 

“Uh yeah actually. You can.” Mickey spoke. He wanted to get in and get out as fast as he could, and he didn’t have the patience to wander around searching for what he was looking for. “I’m looking for a lock mechanism. Ya know, one that can be installed on a door by anybody.” 

Agnes reacted immediately. “I see! Right this way sir, we have an entire section of locks to choose from.” She motioned for Mickey to follow her, which he did in silence, keeping a few paces behind her so as not to seem as eager as he was.

*

As soon as Mickey returned, he snuck through the house- peeking around corners like a goddamn intruder in his own home- in order to sneakily bring in his purchase from the car. He tried to be inconspicuous, in case he ran into Clyde, so he’d quickly slipped on an oversized Patagonia jacket from the foyer closet before his trek back to the garage. He took the cluncky lock out of the plastic bag it was in, shoved it up the inside of the jacket and zipped it up to his chin, cradling his arm over his stomach to keep it in place as he hurried inside. _All of this just to install a stupid fucking lock_ , Mickey grumbled to himself as he ran down the steps to his rec room, closing the door gingerly behind him. 

Once Mickey was safely behind the door, he read the instructions carefully, pouring over them as he laid them out over the pool table, before starting to remove the old lock. He wasn’t one to ever read or follow directions, but _this_ was important enough to call for it. He had to finally be able to lock his rec room - it was an essential step of _the plan_.

*

At nearly two-thirty in the afternoon, Ian was just contemplating rolling out of bed, when he heard his phone sound off, announcing a new message from Mickey. The sound had been the only thing giving him a much needed dose of serotonin lately and he greatly appreciated the assistance, more than Mickey would ever know. 

Ian hadn’t explained anything about his disorder to a prospective partner in a long, _long_ time. No one really understood until they saw either extreme of his bipolar.Even then, they would only ever react to the situation at hand. It was difficult for an outsider to step back and look at him as a whole _person_ , and while Ian understood that fact, it was still painful to accept. Naturally, he had learned to be guarded, especially about sharing such information with someone he was interested in dating - God knows he never wanted to be viewed as an extra burden to carry. Not when most of his previous romantic partners had more than enough baggage of their own. 

And Lord, did Mickey have baggage. _What self-respecting Southsider doesn’t?_ Ian had thought to himself. 

As a result, Ian had been keeping to himself as usual during his latest depressive episode- two days and counting - effectively hiding it from Mickey. He had felt the downward spiral hit him slowly over the weekend, much like the drop of the world’s slowest rollercoaster. The feeling wasn’t anywhere near to how severely episodes had once impacted him, thanks to the stability of his medication, yet he was still plagued by the constant knowledge that it was a rollercoaster he’d most likely never be able to get off of. The highs and lows would be there for the rest of his life. All Ian could do was _maintain_ when they hit. 

Mickey’s texts since their last visit had kept him mostly afloat. The negative feelings and worrisome scenarios his mind created always seemed to pause whenever he received a message from the man of his most recent daydreams. As always, he’d let his supervisor at the station know how he was feeling and she had granted him his customary four day mental health leave. It was never quite long enough, but it was really the most time off he could hope for without any of the higher ups having to be involved - which was the fucking last thing he wanted. Today was day three of his self-imposed recovery, and as Ian hauled himself out of bed with the intention of staying out of it all day, a text from Mickey was just the push he needed to do it 

Ian scratched at his belly lazily as he sat on the edge of the bed. He moved his arm - at what looked like a sloth’s pace to his fuzzy, tired mind - to pick up his phone from his bedside table to read the message. He was treated to no words, but instead, a picture of a green door, with Mickey giving a thumbs up in the bottom corner of the screen. 

Ian (2:37): _Haha what am I looking at?_

Ian (2:37): _Also, hi btw_

*

When he had finally affixed the lock to the door properly and tested out the mechanism a few times just to make sure it worked smoothly, Mickey stood back and took pride in the accomplishment. All throughout his youth he had been pretty handy - fixing up old BMX’s he and his brothers would find in the trash, or reconstructing the rickety front steps to the homestead when Terry’s drunk ass tripped and smashed the railing on his way to the ground. _Hell_ , Mickey had even tried his hand at plumbing before, when Mandy’s hair had clogged up the drain of their shitty shower so badly he had practically needed to take a fucking blow torch to it, to get rid of it all. 

That being being said, it had been a long time since Mickey had done anything with his hands other than type at a keyboard or hold a whiskey glass, so it felt like a step in the right direction to do something for himself once again - Mickey was taking his fucking privacy back. 

Once he was thoroughly satisfied with his work, Mickey pulled his phone from his pocket and took a photo of the door with the lock in plain view. He also added in a thumbs up for good measure, knowing that it was stupid, but that - if nothing else - it would make Ian smile. Mickey sent the photo, realizing only seconds after pressing send that Ian had never seen the door before, and so he most likely wouldn’t understand the picture. 

Sure enough, a moment later, two texts arrived from Ian, one after the other. 

Ian (2:37): _Haha what am I looking at?_

Ian (2:37): _Also, hi btw_

Mickey (2:38): _Hey_

Mickey (2:38): _Door to the rec room. Installed a lock._

Ian (2:39): _YOU installed a lock?? Or does it actually work_ 😂

Ian’s lips turned up in a little smile as he sent the teasing message. 

Mickey (2:41): _First off, fuck u Gallagher_

Mickey (2:42): _Second, of course it works, I ain’t some limp-wristed pussy who doesn’t know how to work a lock._

Ian (2:43): _Well I wouldn’t know. You haven’t gotten your hands on me in a while._

Mickey (2:44): _That’ll have to change soon then, won’t it?_

Ian (2:44): _Looks like it ;)_

Ian sent the ridiculous winky face, knowing Mickey would laugh at it, as he finally pulled himself onto his feet. He slinked over to the kitchen and grabbed a packet of strawberry pop tarts and poured a glass of milk, before heading over to the couch recline. It was slow going, but he was proud of himself when he finally landed somewhere other than his bedroom for the first time in days. As Ian tore into the foil surrounding his less than nutritious breakfast, he kept his phone balanced on his knee, in case Mickey messaged back at any second. 

Mickey (2:49): _Why do u think I installed a lock, genius?_

Mickey (2:50): _Also, the room is soundproof…._

Mickey (2:50): _Just saying._

Ian beamed uncontrollably at Mickey’s texts and his chest started to feel pleasantly warm once again. He dropped his phone onto the sofa cushion next to him before covering his reddening cheeks with his hands, not knowing what else to do with himself other than to ride out the giddy feeling. He had to admit, it was a welcome change from emptiness he had been fighting alone in his apartment. Ian was the first to admit, he genuinely _liked_ Mickey and all of his eccentricities. Ian could, potentially, see himself _being_ with Mickey if things were to ever work out in their favor. What’s more, all of the evidence pointed to Mickey feeling the same way. It was a notion that frequently set Ian ablaze from the inside - a flame that even his disorder was struggling to snuff out.

*

##  **Wednesday Morning**

Mickey awoke with a start. He lifted his groggy head from the drool soaked throw pillow and glanced around the rec room, feeling adrift in time and space. Sluggishly, Mickey picked himself up from where he had been laying on the large leather couch, scrubbing his palm over his face, where he could feel the barest layer of stubble beginning to sprout along his jawline. The large flatscreen tv hanging on the wall in front of him had apparently been left on the previous night, and Mickey found himself squinting at the impossibly bright _Red Dead Redemption_ start screen, the music playing on a loop - for how long, he wasn’t sure. 

_Musta fell asleep down here last night,_ Mickey concluded, and as his mind grew more alert with every passing minute, he remembered bits and pieces of what had transpired. 

The day before, after Mickey had installed the lock, he and Ian had texted for hours, keeping each other entertained. The day passed quickly and easily because of it and their topics of discussion remained relatively light and unsubstantial - often their replies were short, but neither man felt pressured to say more than was natural in the moment. 

Although he’d completed his primary task for the day, Mickey wasn’t any less pissed off at Clyde - in fact, the more he stewed over it, the angrier he became. Mickey knew Clyde’s outburst had been due to the culmination of a lot of different factors - and it was clear that while his husband didn’t have the full story, he was catching onto Mickey somehow. Clyde had always been controlling, narcissistic, and belittling, but his tactics had usually been much more subtle than yelling and throwing fits. Mickey had dealt with far worse treatment in his life - he had long since decided that he’d be willing to put up with Clyde’s bullshit ten times over, rather than to spend another second getting bashed and threatened by Terry Milkovich. 

Clyde had never been a screamer or a fighter. He’d never raised a hand to Mickey - which was fucking wise on his part. Mickey could only guess that Clyde’s meltdown had been born out of desperation - perhaps some part of him knew that Mickey was growing weary of his mind games. Maybe his husband could sense deep down that he was gradually being replaced. He decided once and for all that any half-assed attempts at apologies would no longer cut it. He wouldn’t be forgiving Clyde so easily ever again. 

And so, on Tuesday Mickey had decided to stay put in his rec room, surrounded by the things that made him feel sane. Music. Video games. Beer. 

_Ian_. 

Ian had explained that he’d been given a few days off to rest up, so what better time to spend the day in a strange _together/apart_ sort of universe. 

_Headache_ , _just feeling drained._ Ian had explained simply over the phone when Mickey had called him, insisting that he wanted to speak on the phone simply because he needed both hands to hold the xbox controller to avoid admitting that he wanted to hear Ian’s voice. 

Mickey had expressed his sympathy, but he had a feeling that there was something Ian wasn’t sharing. Which was fine, Mickey had told himself. Their ‘relationship’, or whatever the fuck it could be classified as, was still in it’s early stages, no matter how deep in Mickey already felt. There were things he didn’t need to know. Things that he would learn, in time - if Ian let him. 

As the afternoon had trickled into evening, Mickey stayed in almost constant contact with Ian. Their phone call had lasted for longer than Mickey had ever been on call with _anyone_ before, and had only ended when Ian had said his sister Debbie was dropping by with some _stuff_ , which sounded purposely vague and exactly like none of Mickey’s goddamn business. 

Mickey only surfaced from his dungeon to scurry to the kitchen and snag some leftovers from the dinner one of the maids had prepared the night before. He’d inhale a cigarette before descending back down into the comfort of solitude. But eventually, by that afternoon, he’d even given up taking his smoke breaks outside, opting instead to just light up in the rec room. One of Clyde’s cardinal rules about the rec room had been _no smoking indoors,_ and in fact, he’d only agreed to renovate it once Mickey had agreed. 

_Go fuck yourself,_ Mickey had thought, each time he took a puff. 

It now made perfect sense to Mickey, why he’d woken up on the couch, with the faint smell of cigarettes hanging in the air. Once he positioned himself upright, Mickey’s first move was to check his phone. He located it, wedged between the couch cushions, and upon inspection, Mickey saw that he had four unread messages. Three from Ian. One from Clyde. Mickey groaned aloud, and purposefully ignored his husband’s text in order to see what he had missed from Ian. 

Ian (12:09): _You’re gonna fall asleep in the middle of your game if you’re not careful_

Ian (12:21): _You passed out, didn’t you?_

Ian (12:37): _Goodnight, sleepyface 💤_

Mickey’s heart thumped so hard in his chest at reading Ian’s texts, he was almost able to forget that he’d received one from Clyde. Almost. His stomach sank as he forced himself to read the unanswered message. 

Clyde (11:58) _: Will you be gracing me with your presence at some point this evening?_

Mickey was positive that the sour taste in his mouth had little to do with the fact that he'd fallen asleep without brushing his teeth. Clyde's condescending words often had that effect on him. The fact that his husband had deigned to send him an actual text message spoke volumes about how much Mickey’s actions were irritating him. When Clyde had inevitably woken up to find Mickey’s side of the bed just as cold and untouched as it had been when he’d gone to bed, there was no doubt in Mickey’s mind that it would only be adding insult to injury. 

_Good_ , Mickey thought, without a modicum of remorse. It filled him with satisfaction to know that he was finally giving his self centred husband a taste of his own bitter medicine. 

Still, Mickey knew he couldn’t stay hidden away in the rec room forever, as strong as the desire was. His anger with Clyde finally appeared to give him some leverage, and he sure as hell wasn’t planning on letting it go. Mickey pushed himself off of the couch and finally shut the tv and gaming system down. He then headed towards the door, intent on washing up in the nearby bathroom before venturing up into the house, where Clyde could be lurking around any corridor, waiting to confront him. 

It occurred to Mickey that he was still wearing the same clothes as the day before, and he had a feeling this would garner more ridicule from his husband. Mickey couldn’t have cared less. Besides, he was planning on taking the dogs on a walk anyway, as soon as he snagged a quick breakfast

As he reached for the doorknob, Mickey caught sight of his handwork with fresh eyes and felt another spark of pride - the brand new lock seemed to glimmer at him with a paradoxical air of freedom. Opening the door with one hand, Mickey sent off a text to Ian with the other. 

Mickey (10:23) _Morning. Gonna be a great fuckin’ day._

And Mickey knew that, as soon as Ian answered him back, it really would be. 

*

Mickey was so busy scouting through the contents of the hallway closet, trying to locate his favorite retractable leashes, that he hadn’t sensed Clyde coming up behind him until he was all but cornered. 

“Good morning, _husband_.” Clyde greeted, making the word sound much more arrogant and insufferable than it should have. He stood behind Mickey, observing him, hands clasped behind his back as he waited for the younger man to face him. 

Mickey paused mid-reach, reminding himself not to immediately snap. Not so long ago, his natural urge to mouth off had been easier to suppress. This appeared to no longer be the case. When he was sure he wasn’t going to say or do any dumb shit, Mickey grabbed onto the leases and collars he had found dangling around a hook behind some winter jackets and turned to see Clyde standing behind him, nearly blocking the entrance way to the closet. 

“Morning.” Mickey nodded and made an honest attempt to side step the man, but Clyde seemed to anticipate it, and took a step towards him. 

“Did you freshen up yet? I see you’re still wearing yesterday's clothes…” He eyed Mickey as he wrapped his fingers around Mickey’s biceps and looked into his eyes. “You’re taking the dogs for a walk like _this_?” He arched a judging, manicured eyebrow. 

“Didn’t know it was a fuckin’ black tie event,” Mickey mumbled sarcastically, shrugging out of Clyde’s grip with ease and pushing past him into the foyer. He concentrated on untangling the leashes as he whistled for the dogs. “Come on, mutts! Who wants to go for a walk?” Mickey asked the question loudly, as he heard the telltale scamper of paws rushing towards the sound of his voice. 

Baxter was the first to fling himself into the room from the kitchen, his excited yapping filling up the foyer all the way to the vaulted ceilings. Mimsy trailed behind him, letting out little yips of her own, echoing her _not-so-little_ little brother. The sight and sound of the dogs brought an instant smile to Mickey’s face, brightening his mood considerably. 

Baxter approached Mickey directly, and licked at his outstretched palm, while Mimsy circled Clyde’s legs before settling down over his shoes, waiting to be picked up. Clyde bent down and scooped up his child before stepping up to Mickey again and propping Mimsy against his chest for Mickey to put the collar on her. “Well, why don’t I join you? Looks like my Mimsy here wants her daddy to come along.” He pet Mimsy’s side, looking for all the world like some demented Bond villain in Mickey’s eyes.

Numbly, Mickey fastened the collar around Mimsy’s neck, his mind racing to come up with something, anything that would prevent Clyde from tagging along. He thought about telling his husband that he wanted to go alone, but Mickey could tell just by the stubborn look in Clyde’s eyes that he was intent on going, and would not be deterred easily. So, Mickey chose to not respond, merely stooping to clasp Baxter’s collar around his neck once he’d managed to sit still enough, and attaching the leash. When he straightened up, Mickey extended the other leash towards Clyde- resigning himself to the uncomfortable fate. 

*

For the entire outing, Mickey and Clyde walked together in suffocating silence.

After several unsuccessful attempts to lure Mickey into conversation, Clyde gave up trying, much to Mickey’s relief. He cursed himself for forgetting his airpods, which would have made ignoring Clyde much easier

Their only sustained interaction had been Clyde offering to hold Mimsy’s leash, which Mickey had mutely gone along with, only because there was no real reason to put up a fight. 

Unlike Mimsy, who would disappear the moment she was untethered, Mickey had no problem unhooking Baxter’s leash, knowing that the big friendly oaf wouldn’t go far and would come running back without fail when instructed. Every seven feet, Baxter would stop to check if Mickey was still following before happily continuing on his way. By the time the house came back into view, Mickey had never been so happy to be home.

Turning into their driveway, Mickey stopped and stared ahead of him, causing Clyde to grumble and step around his husband to see what could possibly have caused him to freeze. Parked in the driveway was a navy blue sedan, with a man leaning back on the driver’s side door, one hand in the pocket of his frayed blue jeans, the other absently fiddling with a set of car keys. He was a young guy, no older than Mickey, with deeply tanned complexion and even darker hair. When it occurred to the stranger that we was being watched, he turned towards the two men and gave a short wave

“Uh, can I help you?” Mickey asked in his classically abrasive tone, cautiously approaching the newcomer. They did not often have uninvited guests, and so he was understandably wary.

“Hola! I mean - Hi, name’s Nico. I’m Alice’s son!” The stranger spoke. “I just got here a few minutes ago but it seemed like no one was home, so I thought I’d wait around for a bit. Mama asked me to come pick up her paycheck.” Nico offered them a kind smile.

“Hmmmm,” Clyde began, ignoring the greeting altogether. He looked down at his nose at Nico, regarding the man with equal parts suspicion and disinterest. “Alice has never mentioned a son before. I don’t think-“ 

“Yes, she has. To me.” Mickey interjected bluntly. He knew all too well what it was like to be on the receiving end of Clyde’s snobbery. In fact, just to spite his husband further, Mickey switched the dog leash into his non-dominant hand and extended forward to give the man a solid handshake. “She mentioned you were visiting, from Mexico, huh? Nice to put a face to the name finally.” It took everything in Mickey to resist his natural urge to be closed off in the face of someone unfamiliar. 

Gregariously, Nico accepted the handshake, and chuckled as Baxter took the opportunity to jump up and greet the man himself. Mickey quickly shortened the retractable leash with a flick of his thumb, and Baxter was forced to stop his loving assault. 

“She’s mentioned you as well! Mickey, right?” Nico enquired, bending forward to give Baxter a consolation scratch behind the ears. Mickey nodded, a little surprised that Alice had actually spoken about him to anyone. For the first time in his life, Mickey hoped she only had good things to report. 

Clyde cleared his throat. “ _Mr. Miller_ , actually.” He corrected, and Mickey felt the heat rising up in his gut at the condescending tone. 

“I got the dogs.” Mickey gestured for Clyde to hand him Mimsy’s leash. When Clyde gave him a wide eyed look, Mickey rolled his eyes. “You’re the one with the keys to the filing cabinet with the employee cheques. We’ll wait here until you get back.” 

Clyde lightly shook his head as he passed Mimsy’s leash to Mickey and gave Nico a curt nod. “I’ll go retrieve it and let you get on with the rest of your day.” He set his lips in a thin line as he turned and headed for the grandiose double doors of their mansion. He pushed through and left one door open behind him, knowing he’d return quickly. 

Nico brought his gaze back to Mickey. “I hope I’m not intruding, showing up like this. I should’ve had Mama call first.” He apologized as Mimsy curled up Mickey’s sneakers and Baxter began sniffing Nico’s hand again, looking for treats. 

“Nah man, don’t mind him,” Mickey nodded towards the open door Clyde had left behind, “It’s no problem. Your mom works hard for that paycheque.” He wasn’t sure if that was the right thing to say, but Nico smiled appreciatively at the statement nonetheless. 

A few pings sounded through the air, and Nico gave a groan, rummaging around in the pocket of his jeans, retrieving a cellphone. His brows furrowed as he scrolled across the screen, and Mickey watched curiously as his face twisted in consternation. “Sorry. Even when I plan my vacations out ahead of time, work emails never stop piling up.” Nico explained with a shake of his head, before pocketing his phone. “Don't get me wrong, I love my job, but they can never seem to get off my ass.”

Mickey, ever uncomfortable with small talk, saw his opening and took it. “What do you do for work?” He asked politely, hoping that the response to the question would keep the man talking until Clyde returned with the cheque. 

Nico’s eyes appeared to light up at the question. “Well, I promise my answer is much more interesting than it’s going to sound at first.” He assured Mickey, prefacing before his usual long winded spiel. “Basically I work for a chain of international accounting firms - Larsons Accounting Limited, I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of us?” 

“Can’t say that I have.” Mickey responded, hoping he hadn’t just opened the Pandora’s Box of idle conversations - the man seemed to be entirely too passionate about his career for an accountant. 

Nico could only laugh. “Yeah that’s what most people say. Anyway, I’m part of the software team, which essentially means I help to create the at home versions of the accounting tools that small-business owners use. I work in the coding department - that’s the interesting part.” Nico stifled himself then, glancing up to check and see if Mickey was still awake. “I dunno, maybe it’s just me that gets so excited about the technical stuff.” 

Despite Mickey’s uncharacteristic interest in numbers, he couldn’t say he’d ever considered it to be his passion - merely something he was good at. Yet, something about Nico’s delivery of the topic caught his attention. 

“Accounting software, huh?” Mickey commented, reaching down to pat Mimsy on the head in an attempt to calm her down when she yipped sharply. “Doesn’t that shit get repetitive after a while?” He realized the phrasing of the question may have come off a tad insulting, yet he was genuinely wondering how someone could be so jazzed about the prospect. 

“You’d think!” Nico shrugged. “But honestly, it’s the coding that is the fun part. I’m not as interested in the final product as I am the whole processing of making something out of nothing. It has a lot of other applications, actually. Some of my college buddies work at all kinds of different companies but we all technically have the same job title. I know people in everything from web development to research assistant positions - hell, about a month ago I helped a buddy of mine work his way out of a corner with some coding for the gaming company where he’s temping. Some sort of level design - now that was freakin’ interesting.”

At this last point, Mickey found himself intrigued. He’d never thought about coding in relation to video games, although in retrospect it was sort of an obvious connection. If the amount of gaming devices and vintage arcade machines hoarded away in his rec room were an indication, it was safe to say that Mickey had a _thing_ for gaming. Some (Clyde included) would claim that this was as a result of Mickey’s famed penchant towards violence - and sure, having the ability to slice the heads off of your virtual enemies without legal repercussion was a definite plus. But truthfully, Mickey enjoyed the art and design of the games just as much, if not more; although, he had never disclosed that to anyone. He enjoyed the visuals of the characters, and compelling storylines - it was much more entertaining than sitting down and reading a stupid book. 

Mickey had about a million questions he wanted to ask Nico about this revelation, but before he had a chance to verbalize any of them, he looked over the man’s shoulder to see Clyde exiting the house and closing the front door behind him - a cream colored envelope pinched between his fingers. 

“This is it. Here you go.” Clyde slapped the envelope into Nico’s palm a little forcefully. He didn’t know why Mickey was being so uncharacteristically friendly and it was pissing him off that his husband hadn’t come inside behind him. Was Mickey this desperate to talk to someone other than him? Of all people to talk to and impress, Mickey was talking to the _help-adjacent_. 

“Thanks a million, sir!” Nico replied cheerfully, and Mickey now got the distinct impression that he was being overly pleasant just to spite Clyde. Nico then turned to Mickey, and his expression settled into something more natural. “And thank you for letting me talk your ear off about my job! You folks have a great rest of your day.” With that, Nico climbed back into his Chevy and started the engine, giving a polite wave to Mickey as he backed down the driveway and onto the street. 

Clyde glared at the car as it disappeared from view and snatched Mimsy’s leash from Mickey’s hands. “Remind me to notify the staff that their family shouldn’t just be showing up to our estate.” He huffed under his breath, and Mickey once again had to resist the urge to throttle his husband to the ground. 

“He was _nice_.” Mickey shrugged and gently tugged on Baxter’s leash, prompting the dog to rise up from where he had settled down on the walkway when no one was giving him attention. “Let’s just go inside.” 

*

##  **Wednesday Afternoon**

Mickey had spent the early afternoon lounging on the couch, watching two more episodes of _Game of Thrones_ while he texted his reactions to Ian. He figured Ian must’ve been busy because his replies were slow, but he didn’t mind. Eventually though, Mickey paused the show, because he wasn’t enjoying himself nearly as much as when he and Ian were watching it simultaneously.

Mickey (3:32): _This plot is getting fuckin confusing._

Mickey (3:32): _Any idea when ur gonna have time to watch?_

He worried that the messages had come off a little too needy, but Ian’s reply moments later instantly put him at ease.

Ian (3:34): _Maybe tonight? I gotta pick up something for dinner in a little while but I’ve been too lazy to leave the house._

Ian was slowly resurfacing from below the crashing waves of his depressive episode, and when Mickey had begun messaging about the show, he would’ve loved to give the man his full attention. However, regaining balance had always been a temperamental time for Ian and so he knew the process required all of his concentration to get himself back to where he needed to be. Currently, however, Ian needed to get himself off of the floor - since he was still laying on his yoga mat. He had decided to push the final bits of emotional debris out the window by following a yoga video in the early afternoon so he could start to move on. He’d been holding his phone above his face and was praying that it didn’t accidentally slip out of his fingers as he texted Mickey. He somehow needed to get himself showered and dressed, before heading out the door to pick up comfort food. Baby steps. 

Mickey (3:35): _I could fix that._

Ian stared at the message curiously. It felt ridiculously sexual given the benign context. Before he could even begin to formulate a response, Mickey’s next text popped up.

Mickey (3:35): _Gimme your address. I’ll get whatever you want delivered._

While he pressed send, Mickey wondered exactly how Ian would respond to the statement. As much he knew Ian loved to eat, he had a feeling the man would try and turn down the offer, viewing it as a handout. Every time Mickey had spoken to Ian over the past few days, he felt like there was just a little something out of whack. He tried to push the thought away, reminding himself that - in the grand scheme of things - he really knew shit-all about Ian. Other than Mickey noticing Ian in the periphery of his life as a kid, and their recent contact, a lot of who Ian was as an adult remained a mystery to him. 

However, simply based on their relationship thus far, Mickey was finding Ian’s behavior over the past few days a little strange. The man who had been so vibrant with energy that he could work a twelve hour day and still have enough juice left over to go on a run before an hour long sexting session, was now appearing to be sleeping late into the day and less active. Mickey had picked up on the fact that Ian now considered completing the smallest task to be a huge accomplishment and he found it endearing that Ian would send a little check mark emoji within a message detailing what he had done. The funniest message had been ‘ _laundry done_ ✅’ followed by a picture of a pair of his clean boxers sitting on top of the machine. 

Mickey didn’t know what was going on, and he wasn’t sure how to ask, so he figured the only way to be of help would be to hook Ian up with some grub. 

Ian (3:39): _Thanks, but you really don’t have to do that. I’ll get something._

Ian's first instinct was to decline the offer. His Southside pride could not bear it, although he was sure Mickey’s intentions were genuine, it still struck him as too much. In addition, the thought of giving Mickey his address was an intriguing yet unsettling one - the mental image of Mickey potentially Googling it and pulling up pictures of his little apartment complex made him feel a bit queasy. Rationally, he knew Mickey wouldn’t be judging him. However, he still feared that Mickey’s standard of living had been raised to such lofty heights that Ian had no ability to match. As much as Ian fucking despised the unearned privileges of having money, he was content with his lifestyle. But, he wasn’t exactly about to gloat about it either. And, if memory served Ian correctly, the Milkovich homestead made the Gallagher house look like prime real estate. 

Mickey (3:41): _Turning down free food? Suit urself, man. Of course I don’t have to do it._

Mickey (3:42): _I want to._

Ian sighed as he read Mickey’s messages and instantly picked up on what he was doing. He must have followed Ian’s thought patterns and guessed where they were headed. Ian twisted his neck at an awkward angle to glance balefully at the door to his apartment, which looked so unbelievably far from where was laying, only a few feet away. Even though he had only been on leave from work for a few days, Ian knew his paycheck would be somewhat lighter, and most of it would go towards rent and his all important meds - with a little left over to spread between Liam, Franny, and Freddie if he could swing it. None left over for delivery. 

Taking a deep breath in and blowing it out through his nose, Ian began to type, swallowing his pride like a wad of chewing gum.

Ian (3:43): _That would be really nice. Thank you._

Swiftly, he texted his address and apartment number to Mickey and anxiously kept checking his phone for Mickey’s reply as he got up off of his yoga mat and walked into his room. 

Mickey (3:48): _ok, hope u like KFC cuz there’s a big fuckin bucket of chicken comin ur way_

Mickey (3:49) _that shits family sized too, should last u a few days_

Ian (3:50): _Thanks Mick. You really didn’t have to do that._

Ian (3:50): _I’ve just been feeling a little drained today._

Ian (3:51): _I should feel better tomorrow. Sleep and food will be good, so I definitely owe you one._

Mickey (3:52): _Yeah yeah don’t mention it._

Mickey (3:53): _Can’t have u starvin’ on me, red._

*

##  **Thursday Morning**

As if trying to break some kind of fucking record, Mickey made three huge mistakes before he had even had his morning coffee. His first mistake - and perhaps the biggest one, was crawling up out of his rec room. After showering in the basement’s bathroom, he carefully crept up the steps to the main floor, staying quiet in hopes that Clyde wouldn’t try and interact with him, so that he could peacefully grab a muffin or danish or whatever Alice had purchased on her last grocery run over the weekend.

Mickey’s second mistake was bringing his laptop upstairs with him. The thing was, Mickey had been _thinking,_ since speaking to Nico. In fact he couldn’t stop thinking, and although that wasn’t anything to write home about - it was the topic that was throwing him for a loop. No matter what he did, he couldn’t get the conversation out of his mind - numbers and coding and _video games._ He felt like an idiot, but something about the passion with which Nico spoke made Mickey more than a little curious as to what all the fucking hype could possibly be about. In between random rounds of pool and binge watching episode after episode of Game of Thrones, he had been playing all of his favorite games on all of his favorite consoles - Dark Souls, Portal, Bloodborne, the entire GTA series - and all he could think was, _how fucking wicked would it be to make one of these things._ And so, foolishly, Mickey figured if he was going to haul himself out of his comfortable basement for the first time in what felt like years, he might as well do a little research to keep himself occupied.

The third, and final mistake, and really the one that caused Mickey the most hardship, was when he decided on a whim to leave his laptop unattended after a solid twenty minutes of searching the web for everything he could find about _amature video game coding_ and _coding for beginners._ He had pulled a bar stool up to the island in the kitchen and had been actually investing his time in reading an honest-to-god _article_ about video game creation engines and MMORPGs over an untouched cup of coffee, when he’d had to jump up abruptly and investigate a noise that sounded suspiciously like a dog getting into something they weren’t supposed to.

After prying an item that turned out to be a loose button from between Baxter’s jaws with the help of one of the weekday maids, Mickey had returned to the kitchen to see Clyde with one hand holding the screen of his laptop, reading intently. It took precisely one millisecond for Mickey to turn red with rage at the unwelcome sight of his husband sticking his nose, once again, where it didn’t belong. 

“Um, excuse the fuck outta you!” Mickey stormed across the kitchen and snatched the laptop out from in front of Clyde’s face, slamming it shut and tucking it under his arm defensively. “You ever heard of privacy?” It was a knee jerk reaction and a stupid question. Of course Clyde didn’t care if he violated Mickey’s boundaries - as far as his husband was concerned Mickey shouldn’t have any, and the look of indignation that colored his features expressed that sentiment clearly. 

“Pardon me for taking an interest in you. What are you reading those articles for?” Clyde ignored Mickey’s question and posed one of his own instead. “Reading about coding? Doesn’t seem like you at all.”

Mickey suddenly had the irrational urge to defend himself, even though he knew it wouldn’t make a difference. “Just somethin’ I’ve been thinkin’ about, alright?” He muttered, keeping his gaze on Clyde’s faux-leather loafers. “You’re the one who’s always saying I should get a hobby or some shit. Well, maybe I will.” 

The look Clyde leveled Mickey with, made the younger man regret even trying to explain himself. “I meant something useful, Mikhailo.” He deadpanned, and Mickey felt like shriveling up on the spot. “You’re already spending all of your time playing those goddamn video games - now you want to waste more of it figuring out how they’re made?” Clyde let out a particularly cruel laugh. “Good luck ever breaking into that market.”

“That’s not what- you don’t- you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” Mickey challenged, but even as he did, he was physically backing away, ending closer to the staircase to the rec room.

Clyde looked shocked at this accusation. “Don’t be silly, dear. It’s a nice daydream, but it would be better if you kept it that way. Besides, if you have time to be reading these articles, you have time to be working on the invoicing that I need done by the end of this month. Or, did you conveniently forget all about that, hmm?”

Mickey was already well into the process of shutting down, however this comment was the final nail in the coffin. All at once he was in third grade again, being told by his teacher that he’d most likely be a dropout by the age of ten, after writing some especially unsavory words on the whiteboard in permanent marker. “I’m going back downstairs.” Mickey stated coldly, whipping around and putting some more distance between himself and Clyde before he could lose his shit again. As gratifying as it was to let out his rage, Mickey knew it was pointless. It would only lead to more of Clyde’s fake apologies, more disingenuous attempts to pacify him. 

“Why must you be so impossible to talk to?” Clyde called out behind him, but Mickey just kept going, hopping down the basement steps and clenching his fists so tightly his bones ached. At the base of the steps, Mickey turned abruptly, hauled back the arm not cradling his laptop and punched the wall. 

“Mother _fucker_!” Mickey growled, trying to keep his voice down and not attract his husband's unwanted attention. Luckily, the walls were re-enforced, and there was only a small chip in the plaster to show for the outburst, a perfect indent from the diamond mounted on his wedding ring - his knuckles, on the other hand, would swell and bruise within a few hours. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Mickey managed to straighten his finger out just enough to slip off the god forsaken ring and bury it in the pocket of his jeans - cursing himself for ever putting the stupid thing back on in the first place.

It hurt like hell, but Mickey had to admit he felt slightly better.

*

##  **Thursday Afternoon**

Ian (2:46): _I think I’m gonna go for a run._

Ian (2:47): _Has he remembered he has a job yet?_

Although it impacted Mickey much more directly than it affected him, Ian had nevertheless been supremely pissed off by the fact that Clyde was lingering about the house the entire week. Obviously, Clyde had valid reason to be suspicious, but Ian still reserved the right to be annoyed by it all the same. 

Despite how he and Mickey always found time to text or call throughout the day, Ian was starting to crave _more_ , and not being able to have the immediate satisfaction of being with Mickey or touching him whenever he wanted was driving him wild. As a matter of fact, Ian was beginning to think that the separation - as well as not knowing exactly when he would be able to see Mickey had potentially contributed to his recent depressive episode. He wasn’t sure to what degree that was true, but he couldn’t seem to get the thought out of his head once it had entered. Ian knew it was a sign of just how far gone he was - it was probably way too soon to be _needing_ someone the way he could feel himself _needing_ Mickey. Yet, try as he might, no amount of reasoning with himself could make the ache go away. 

Mickey (2:50): _Nope. He’s still here. I have no fuckin clue what he’s doing all day either._

_Mickey (2:51) At least I found something to do that isn’t totally boring._

An exasperated sigh escaped Ian’s mouth when he read Mickey’s first response, but his eyebrows raised at the second one. 

Ian (2:52): _Yeah? What’s that?_

Mickey (2:52): _Don’t be an asshole about it._

Ian (2:52): 🙄 

Ian (2:52): _I won’t._

Mickey (2:53) _: Fine but if u laugh I’ll know and beat ur ass next time i see u._

Mickey (2:57): ... _I’m sort of learning to code shit_. 

Mickey (2:58): _Like for video games and shit._

Ian immediately picked up his phone from his kitchen countertop, where he’d left it while he was lacing up his running shoes. He selected Mickey’s number from the top of his “recent calls” list, and hoped desperately that Mickey was alone so he could answer. 

“What?” Mickey picked up on the first ring. Ian felt a fluttering in his chest at the gravel in his tone, and the way Mickey managed to sound both mildly irritated and affectionate - all at the same time. 

“Mick! That sounds fucking awesome!” Ian cheered into the phone, perching on the arm of his sofa. 

“Really?” The disbelief escaped Mickey’s mouth before he could reign it in. He’d had such an unpleasant reaction from Clyde that he’d forgotten what it felt like to have someone actually support something you were interested in. He captured the phone between his shoulder and his ear, holding out his hand into the dim light of the rec room. Blotchy purple bruising was already starting to form on each of his knuckles, and it stung like a bitch to tighten his fist. 

“Yes, really.” Ian chuckled, and he sounded so serious about it that Mickey had no choice but to believe him. “Always wanted to know how people do that kind of stuff. What got you interested?”

Mickey scratched his forehead as he tried to figure out how to answer. He didn’t feel like explaining everything about Alice, and her son, and how uncomfortable Clyde had made an otherwise pleasant interaction. Instead, he settled on a half truth. “Just something I’ve always thought was cool. Decided I’d look into it and I found some beginner shit to try. Nothing too impressive.”

“It’s fuckin’ badass.” Ian assured him, with conviction. 

Mickey cleared his throat. “Uh,” He paused to sniff, rubbing his knuckle against his nose. “Bet you’d be surprised that not everybody thinks so. _He_ told me it was a waste of time cause it’s not _useful_. Whatever the hell that means…” Mickey grumbled. He decided to strategically leave out the part where he punched a fucking wall like a gassed up teenager - even if Ian would understand, Mickey still felt a bit embarrassed about it. 

“Why-” Ian began and then stopped himself and let out a heavy, frustrated huff. _Why are you still with him?_ The question was on the tip of his tongue, yet he held himself back. Ian’s eyebrows furrowed and he shook his head. He didn’t want to make Mickey defensive or start a stupid argument. It was the first day Ian was feeling even remotely close to his version of normal, and talking about Clyde’s increasingly poor treatment of Mickey not only upset him - it _angered_ him. 

Clyde made Mickey feel like shit; that much didn’t take a genius to piece together. In all honesty, Ian knew the answer to his own unasked question. He knew _why_ Mickey stayed with Clyde, at least partially. There were many complex layers of obligation, fear, and brainwashing involved - Ian was starting to understand those things in a way he never thought he would. Even still, it was mind-boggling to Ian that someone who grew up learning how to defend himself from nearly every threat known to man seemed to be powerless in the face of Clyde’s manipulation. 

The life that Clyde expected his husband to live _wasn’t_ Mickey at all. With everything Ian had come to learn about their marriage, it was clear as day that Clyde expected Mickey to be nothing more than a doll to own and dress up and show off to his friends, and somehow - despite all his natural instincts, Mickey had fallen for it.

More importantly Ian supposed he was a little miffed that Mickey didn’t seem to have a plan to remove himself from the situation, especially now that he had someone else to lean on. Could Mickey not see that they had a good thing going? It was becoming more apparent to Ian every day that he wanted a relationship with Mickey. A real one. He didn’t want to be just a hookup, or the other man. Ian wanted to _try_ with him. 

“He’s such an asshole, man.” Ian settled on saying something he was sure they would both agree upon, as he stood up from his couch and moved towards the door with his backpack on. His plan was to run to Lip’s and then swing by the Gallagher house on his way back. Ian had realized he’d been so caught up with Mickey and getting himself back on his own two feet that he hadn’t spent much quality time with his family recently, and he was determined to change that.

“Always is.” Mickey glanced towards the rec room door and confirmed that it was locked. He heard honking sounds and someone talking as they walked by Ian on the other side of the line, “You gotta go?” He inquired, attempting to sound casual but the very way Mickey asked the question made it crystal clear that he hoped the answer would be ‘no’.

Ian puffed his chest out as he set off at a steady jog, preening at the attention. “No, I don’t have to. We can stay on the phone while I run, but you’ll be doing most of the talking and all you’ll hear is heavy breathing on my end.” He chuckled as he stretched against the wall of his building. “So basically, it’ll be like when we fuck.” He joked. 

Mickey laughed sarcastically, pretending Ian wasn’t stupidly charming. “Again. Fuckin’ comedy genius. How has Netflix not discovered your ass yet?” The sound of Ian’s laughter on the other end was music to Mickey’s ears, the perfect reward. “Anyway, uh… where ya running to?” It dawned on him that he didn’t know where Ian lived - near the Southside, no doubt, but what neighborhood? Mickey had resisted the urge to Google Ian’s address when he’d gotten it the day before. It suddenly felt strange that he didn’t know about Ian’s living situation, but then again, that would be something he’d want Ian to show him, in time. 

“Lip’s at home with the baby today so I’m gonna go hang out with them before I stop by to see Debs. He’ll probably pass out on me, but Freddie and I can play video games together.” Ian joked as he steadily increased his pace to a sprint. “He lives on Christiana Avenue behind our old house, if you know where that is.” Ian recalled that Mickey probably hadn’t been to the Southside in years - since Mickey had evidently told Terry to fuck off and die just before he had split for the final time.

“Yeah, I’m familiar. How far of a run is it?” Mickey asked, shutting his laptop for the time being and placing it beside him on the couch. “Also, didn’t know babies knew how to play video games. Must be a smart kid.” He quipped playfully. 

“Yeah, he helps me out by hitting ‘X’ repeatedly - whenever he wants - and I’m in charge of all the other buttons.” Ian huffed a laugh as he stopped at the end of the block and waited for the signal to change. “It’s only a five mile jog and then five miles back later. My apartment is closer to downtown.” He finished his sentence as the light changed and he jogged across the street. “Tiny, but gets the job done…” He laughed before jumping up onto the curb. “Like you.” 

Mickey rolled his eyes, but could feel his face heating up. “Oh fuck off, man.” His voice was far too soft for him to have meant it. “All these subtle hints you’re droppin’ make it sound like you've been thinking about me, huh Gallagher? Don’t blame you, I know - I’m pretty unforgettable.” 

“Uh huh, yeah sure. Keep telling yourself that.” Ian chuckled before running down the sidewalk. By the third consecutive block, he finally paused to catch his breath. “Why? You thinkin’ about me?” He asked as he slid to a stop. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Mickey smirked, feeling a bit dizzy from the head rush that shamelessly flirting with Ian always seemed to give him. He was amazed at how content he was to just listen to Ian breathing on the other end of the line. “Maybe you’ll find out next time I see you… whenever the fuck that‘s gonna be.” Mickey’s heart sank thinking about how long it would be if Clyde kept hanging around for much longer, trying to prove his point. Obviously, he knew that his husband had to go back to work at some point - but if he knew anything it was how much of a stubborn bastard Clyde was when he wanted something his way. 

Mickey knew what he wanted. Clyde wanted Mickey to ‘forgive’ him properly. To go back to how things were before Ian had pried his eyes open to the truth of his situation. Mickey wouldn’t give in to it, though. There was no going back, no matter how dangerous it was to keep on defying Clyde so openly. Mickey didn’t care to think about the consequences for too long- all he knew was that he wasn’t giving Ian up for anything. 

“Do you have any idea how soon? I’d… like to see you.” It was a massive understatement, but Ian was really trying to restrain himself from being his usual head over heels, all in, self.

“Fuckin’ soon, hopefully.” Mickey huffed. “I mean, he can’t stay home forever.” Deep down, Mickey was fully aware that the pattern he was developing with Ian was not sustainable. He was becoming less careful by the day, and he was sure that Clyde wasn’t going to put up with the change in atmosphere for very much longer. It would all come to head at some point, but again, the mere thought made Mickey’s stomach bubble with anxiety - it was easier to ignore it. 

“Yeah, tell him you want… uh, I don’t know something he’d need to make money for, so that he has to go to work.” Ian half-joked as he fixed his earbuds and jogged across the street, making a solid attempt to lighten the mood. He was finally getting into the residential area and he didn’t need to stop at crosswalks anymore. The fresh air felt amazing against his cheeks and talking to Mickey on the phone made the run ten times better. 

“Yeah, I don’t think he’d go for that one right now… I’ve been pissin’ him off lately. On purpose. Sort of.” Mickey grimaced, realizing he’s been complaining about Clyde for far longer than he’d anticipated. “Jesus, sorry man. You definitely don’t wanna hear about all this shit. This is my mess. Not yours.” He felt a bit of shame creeping in around the corners of his thoughts. Mickey knew Ian had been persistent and willingly chose to insert himself into the failing marriage, and yet he still felt ultimately responsible for allowing Ian to get involved. Still, he couldn’t ignore the fact that - without Ian - he’d still be plodding along, as unhappy as ever. 

“Mick. It’s fine. You need to vent. Plus, now I wanna know what you’ve been doin’ to piss him off so bad. Sounds like a riot.” Ian snickered, turning a familiar corner at the Kash N Grab. “Salt in his coffee or…?” 

“The fuck do you think this is? An episode of _Punk’d_?” Mickey scoffed and idly picked at a tiny hole in the outer seam of his sweatpants. “Sorry to fuckin’ disappoint ya, but I ain’t Ashton Kutcher.” 

“Mmmm, well that sucks, doesn’t it? Always thought he was hot.” Ian teased, sounding entirely out of breath. “It’s all good though. He’s not actually my type. I like ‘em small, and I’m partial to dark hair and blue eyes.” 

“Will you quit with the short jokes, Gallagher?” Mickey grumbled in mock frustration, “Or else I’m gonna start pointin’ out all your glaring flaws. Like, your hair’s way too goddamn… red.” 

“I seem to remember you liking my hair. I mean, I assumed by the way you were grabbing it when I fucked you...” Ian let out an obnoxiously loud fake moan that dissolved into a fit of laughter as he jogged down the street he grew up on and turned the corner. 

Mickey joined in, laughing at the stupid noises Ian made, but the memory made his body heat up instantly. “Shut up, man,” He shook his head and chucked. “You gotta be there by now, right?” Not that he wanted Ian to hang up, but it had been a while since the call had started, and Mickey didn’t want to monopolize any of Ian’s time with his family.

“Almost… few houses away.” Ian panted. “Why? You got another boyfriend to talk to?” 

Mickey froze, mid-breath, the air practically crystallizing in his lungs. He felt his heart kick start like an engine, beating twice as quickly as had been before. 

_Boyfriend?_

Ian had said it so casually, like there wasn’t a question in his mind that the label was correct, although they’d never had the conversation. It was as if he didn’t even register the significance of the word, and Mickey found himself unavoidably speechless. 

_Boyfriend_. 

Mickey wanted to say something. Brush it off with another lighthearted, stupid joke. But, he felt like his tongue and lips had lost all strength, laying dormant, unable to function properly. He knew the silence was most likely deafening on the other end of the line, but Mickey’s mind had effectively flatlined. All he could do was listen to Ian’s deep breathing begin to even out as the man slowed to a halt.

“Hey… you still there?” Ian pulled his backpack off of his back and drank some water as he sat on the ledge outside of Lip’s house. “If you really gotta go, I can let you go. Just got here.” Slowly, it dawned on Ian what he’d said to make Mickey grow so quiet. “Shit… ‘ey, listen. I was- I was just joking Mickey. I didn’t mean… what I mean is… well- I would like to be your boyfriend… at some point. But I shouldn’t have just… _fuck_.” He stumbled through the sentences as he put his water bottle away and scratched the back of his head. _Way to go, Ian, you really know how to put your foot in your mouth,_ Ian chastised himself.

“I-I...uh…” Mickey stammered, trying to sort out the best way to reply without sounding like a complete buffoon. The situation was… complicated, to say the least, and Mickey wasn’t entirely sure about assuming the role of a _boyfriend_ while he still had his _husband’s_ claws hooked into him. The thing was, in the short amount of time Mickey had known Ian, he knew that Ian was the sort of person he should hold onto and never let go. A person who made him feel _good_ , important, like his thoughts and opinions fucking _mattered_. No one had ever taken the time to do that before, not even the man he’d married. Mickey didn’t realize how badly he needed it, until Ian gave it to him. It was some sort of fairytale shit, Mickey was sure. 

Yet, it was a hard call to make. Mickey wanted to give Ian his all. Ian fucking _deserved_ it. But, they both knew there were some loose ends to tie up before it could be reality for them. Loose ends that were fraying rapidly, looking more and more like the whole thing would unravel completely. 

Mickey let a sigh rush down over the line. “Look, it’s not… it’s just that… can we talk about this in person?” He spat out, and it wasn’t the right thing to say, not by a long shot - but it would have to do. “There’s- we gotta- _goddamn it!_ I hope you get what I’m trying to fuckin’ say...” 

Ian knew he had no right to just spring such a heavy topic on Mickey with no warning, and so Mickey’s flustered reaction made perfect sense. Truthfully, Ian had spent the last couple of days working through his feelings for Mickey and he was pretty positive he knew where they were heading - all he could do was hope that it wouldn’t end in heartbreak. His recurring argument against whatever he and Mickey had been cultivating just being a fling was that Mickey wanted to _be_ with him. At least Ian thought so. Additonally, he knew people didn’t go around getting warm feelings in their chest when they thought about random fuck-buddies, which Ian had been experiencing for weeks on end when Mickey frequently popped into his mind.

“Yeah of course, Mick. You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I get it. It’s… complicated.” Ian pacified Mickey softly, regretting how riled up he’d gotten the man. He glanced in the direction of his brother’s house and could see Freddie banging on the window in the living room, propped up on the sofa, trying to entice Ian to come inside and play. “We’ll talk about it when we see each other, whenever that is.” He kept his voice even and calm so that he wouldn’t sound as desperate as he felt. Ian was well aware that he had an issue with playing it cool, yet he was trying hard to improve. 

“Thanks. Seriously.” Mickey nodded, and despite Ian’s reassurance, he still felt the weight of all that he wanted to say like a stone on his lap, making him suddenly feel a million pounds heavier. “I’ll, uh... let you get going then. Have fun with the kid.” Mickey thought about making some sort of joke, but his mind was too tired from spinning in circles. 

“I will, Mick. We’ll talk later, okay?” Ian immediately picked up on the shift in Mickey’s tone, but tried to quell _his_ panic by reassuring himself that nothing had changed between them, and that they were just fine. “Alright… Bye.” 

“Bye.” Mickey groaned the second he hung up, flinging the phone down to the other side of the couch. Of _course_ he wanted to be in a relationship with Ian. Without Clyde in the way it would have been a resounding _‘fuck yes’._

As he sat and contemplated the last few minutes of their conversation, Mickey zeroed in on the root cause of his apprehension, the source of the awkwardness about the word “boyfriend”. When he had first met Ian, Mickey had been consumed by the need to protect himself - it had always been about survival. The fear of Clyde’s ability to take everything from him was his overriding thought at all times, which was precisely why he had thought of his initial attraction to Ian as a disastrous mistake waiting to happen. 

Over the course of only a few weeks, Mickey’s feelings had changed dramatically. His priorities had been swiftly rearranged, and it was unsurprising to find that Ian was now among them. More so than anything, he didn’t want Ian to be hurt. 

Clyde’s grip was slipping and the older man knew it, even if he didn’t know exactly why - _yet_. 

It was the _yet_ that was scaring the shit out of Mickey. 

*

As soon as he’d made it inside, Ian had taken one look at Lip and Tami and demanded that they go take a fucking nap. They both looked like they hadn’t slept in weeks and Ian knew the drill - where to find Freddie’s snacks and diapers and toys. He had taken care of babies his entire life and would even go so far as to say he was a pro at it, if anyone cared to ask. They had played with Freddie’s toys for a little bit, after which Ian had fired up Lip’s barely functional Playstation 3 and let the baby button mash until it felt like Freddie had started to sabotage his character on purpose. 

When the little boy had begun to whine, Ian fed him some applesauce and snuck a bite or two for himself when Freddie wasn’t looking. Eventually they migrated back to the living room floor to play with his dinky cars and blocks once more. Lip had not been exaggerating— Freddie was well into the task of teething and although he wasn’t as uncomfortable as he had been the previous week, it seemed like his favorite teether was quickly becoming Ian’s finger. 

Ian (3:34): _I think I’m babysitting a mini vampire. He won’t stop biting me._

Ian sent the text with two pictures - one of Freddie holding his finger and biting around his knuckle, and another, a selfie of Freddie sitting on his knee and Ian pretending to bite him back, although the baby appeared blissfully unaware. He had only hesitated slightly before deciding to send the texts to Mickey, hoping that he’d given things enough time to settle.

When Ian’s message arrived, Mickey stopped idly plucking away the electric guitar in his lap. After he and Ian had hung up the phone, Mickey had tried to distract himself from thinking about the _boyfriend thing,_ by doing a bit more research about coding in video games. He’d come across a few interesting youtube videos, which had then led him to links advertising several free-to-download programs and even some online courses- many of which looked to be obvious scams, however there were some that looked like they might be legitimate. Every time Mickey questioned what the fuck he thought he was doing, he replayed Clydes snide cynicism in his mind, and it only strengthened his conviction that there could be something in this for him. It prompted him to not only download one of the free programs, but to also screw around with it for a while. Eventually, when he ran out of things he understood about the program, Mickey let his frustration take over completely and he abandoned his laptop in favor of the guitar. 

Mickey opened the messages and examined the pictures, feeling a strange squirming in his stomach at the images of Ian with his nephew. 

Mickey (3:35): _Jeez, u might lose that finger if ur not careful man._

Mickey (3:36): _Cute kid. U sure he’s Lip’s?_

Ian (3:37): _He’s not a redhead so he’s definitely not mine._ 😂

Mickey (3:39): _Don’t know fuck all about genetics, but I’m pretty sure ur not just guaranteed a redhead kid…_

Mickey (3:40) _Pretty sure it’s still a crapshoot_

Ian (3:40): _Well, I want one so… dunno what I’m gonna have to do about that._

The fact that Mickey didn’t shy away from the topic of conversation made Ian smile. He would’ve never imagined he’d be talking about shit like that with Mickey when they first started texting, yet it felt right, somehow.

Mickey (3:42): _Gonna have to find another redhead to mix ur shit around with. Double ur odds?_

Mickey wasn’t sure what he was doing, or what sort of turn the conversation was taking, but talking about Ian and kids was making his insides twist and writhe with something strange. Apparently it was the evening of conversations that Mickey didn’t know how to handle, 

Ian (3:44): _Dude. Don’t say it like that_ 🥴 _Sounds nasty as hell._

Ian (3:44) _Even though that’s probably what’s going to happen_

Mickey (3:45): _Better get used to thinking about it then huh?_

First the whole boyfriend thing, and now the topic of kids? Mickey was sure they couldn’t be moving any faster if they tried. Ian might as well get down on one knee for as much as Mickey was feeling in over his head. 

It had been that way with Clyde too. Fast. Mickey had let everything happen at lightning speed, and even before they’d been married, things had been intense. Mickey remembered being so desperate to get away from the same old shit that he had grown up in, he probably could have convinced himself of anything. 

Obviously, Mickey told himself, his feelings for Ian were different. Very different. It was refreshing to know that Ian had no ulterior motives - as far as he could tell. He didn’t want anything from Mickey besides… well, _Mickey_ . Be that as it may, there was a microscopic fear nagging at the back of Mickey’s mind, that he was desperate for an escape from Clyde, and that he was accidentally _using_ Ian to do it. 

It was fucking stupid. Irrational, really. But still, Mickey hadn’t trusted himself in a long time- and Clyde had made damn sure of it. 

Ian (3:50): _Pretty positive I’ll be content to just play with this one for right now._

Ian sent another picture then, and this time he was laying on the floor on his back, with Freddie out cold, cuddled against his chest. Mickey felt himself relax back into the couch at reading Ian’s message. He examined the picture for longer than he’d like to admit, staring at the baby’s tiny scrunched up fists, and the way his chubby face smushed against the fabric of Ian’s t-shirt - happy, content, _safe._

_[ ](https://ibb.co/GPyV60n) _

Mickey smiled softly. He knew the feeling. 

*

Over the next day or so, things were not any less uncomfortable for Mickey

He was more sure than ever that Clyde was onto him. Every time he’d been forced to have an interaction with his husband that week, the tension was palpable. Although at first, Clyde was trying desperately to come off as sincerely apologetic, after their second intense interaction about Mickey’s new hobby there was no doubt in Mickey’s mind that it was the same old wool Clyde had been perpetually pulling over his eyes for years now.

In the past, whenever Clyde had done something that he felt pushed Mickey a little too close to the edge, Mickey could be sure that for at least a week afterward, Clyde would do everything in his power to have Mickey forgive him. It had always seemed to work too - although Mickey had almost always forgiven him solely to make the over-the-top ‘apologies’ stop.

This time, Mickey wasn’t fucking falling for it. 

Ian’s presence in his life had flipped a switch, starting a chain of reactions that could not be reversed. 

It felt a little like what he would imagine living in limbo to be like. He knew Clyde would eventually grow sick and tired of Mickey refusing to give in. Shit would undoubtedly hit the fan. It was no way to live - but then again, Mickey had come to the conclusion that neither was the way he had been living before Ian came along. Where he’d once been terrified of losing everything he had gained over the years, Mickey now understood that the alternative was losing something far more indispensable - _himself_. 

And so, the rec room essentially became Mickey’s make-shift bachelor pad, at least for a few days as he waited for Clyde to decide to give up the act and go back to work. Mickey knew his husband couldn’t last much longer - he was far too concerned about what his clientele would think of him, and what his very few competitors would say. His house calls were his dental office’s unique service, one that added a personalized touch that apparently every wealthy Northside so-and-so simply couldn’t go without, and Clyde got antsy when he didn’t have a few patients lined up for the weekend. Mickey was sure it was only a matter of time before Clyde caved and went to work. 

Until that time, Mickey would hold his ground. 

He and Ian had quickly gotten over the few awkward roadblocks they had faced, both simultaneously deciding to stay away from such topics as relationship labels and children, at least for the time being. 

By Friday evening, Mickey was feeling a little like a caged dog, but reminded himself that it was a cage of his own making - he still felt a little jolt of pride and defiance every time he glanced at the self-installed lock on the rec room door. He knew it was symbolic, all in his head, but it felt like the one thing in his life that Clyde didn’t have complete and utter control over. His husband had yet to discover the lock, and Mickey had a feeling it would be a long time before the little act of rebellion would even be a blip on Clyde’s radar.

Which, Mickey had to acknowledge, technically worked out well in his favor. He knew the minute Clyde became aware of the lock, his suspicions would skyrocket to new heights, and Mickey would be forced to make some tough life decisions. Until Mickey worked things through for himself and actually figured out what the fuck he was doing, he was sure it was best that Clyde was apparently so uninterested in his little basement hide away. 

When Mickey wasn’t directly talking to Ian, he had been distracting himself by delving deeper into his new found hobby - as nerdy as it was. After a few dozen YouTube videos and one frustratingly complex lesson from a man on Skillshare who had unironically sported a full neck beard, Mickey was finally beginning to wrap his head around some of the basic codes he needed. It was nothing fancy, but he had managed to use one of the free programs to generate a very simplistic version of a choose your own adventure type game. It was all text based, and when Mickey had managed to get his primitive algorithm to finally present him with a mixed set of choices and a response to his text command, his excitement had him feeling embarrassed for himself.

Ian, to his credit, cheered Mickey on faithfully, without once making him feel stupid for liking something so geeky. He even helped to contribute to some of the storylines and choices Mickey was crafting, several of which had Mickey laughing his ass off. Mickey had noticed Ian feeling better over the last few days - getting up earlier, eating more, exercising more. Maybe he _had_ just been exhausted, and the time he’d been given off had done him good. Mickey wasn’t sure, but he was just fucking relieved to see that Ian was recovering from whatever it was that had taken him out of commission. 

Mickey had committed to sleeping on the couch in the rec room. Once he’d accidentally done it the first time, he’d made the decision to just commit, and leave Clyde to stew even more. It had been a strange and uneasy feeling - after six years of sleeping next to someone, even someone like Clyde, the absence was blatantly obvious. Yet, Mickey stuck it out, no matter how much he wanted to relax in the comfort of his own king sized bed - he would not give Clyde that satisfaction. 

Something had to give, something had to change. Mickey was counting on it. 

*

##  **Early Saturday Morning**

Mickey nearly leapt out of his skin when he was awoken by his phone buzzing wildly, against his face. The sensation shocked him into consciousness, bolting upright on the couch, and it took him a moment to realize that he must have fallen asleep texting Ian because the phone had been wedged between the couch and his cheek. 

Squinting at the brightness, Mickey grumbled and sighed heavily upon seeing the caller ID. Clyde’s name scrolled across the screen, and the background image displayed an obnoxious photo of him and Clyde from a few years back - the two of them under a sea of stars on the last cruise of the Mediterranean that Clyde had taken him on. The memory behind the picture was not nearly as shiny as the picture made it appear - Clyde had spent the night berating Mickey behind closed doors for ‘talking back to him’ during dinner conversation in front of Clyde’s elite friends and their partners. Mickey felt sick to his fucking stomach seeing the picture - his fake smile and vacant stare were glaringly obvious to him now. In order to get rid of the picture, Mickey reluctantly swiped his thumb across the screen to answer the phone, bringing it up to his ear. 

“Yeah?” Mickey huffed. 

“Will you be coming up from your arcade today or…?” Clyde asked, sipping on his coffee. He wanted to inform his husband that he’d be back to his house calls that day, but he thought he at least deserved to be in Mickey’s presence when he told him. 

“Depends.” Mickey grunted, his voice hoarse from sleep. Being woken up so abruptly, he wasn’t in the mood to deal with any sort of Clyde’s usual bullshit, and it was evident in the tone of his voice. “What do you want?” 

“I’d like to talk to my husband over breakfast, I don’t think that’s asking too much. Besides, Alice made pancakes and some sort of Mexican coffee for you. It would be impolite to let it go to waste.” Clyde insisted, doing everything in his power not to have to say the word please.

Nothing sounded less appealing to Mickey in that moment than having to sit across from Clyde and suffer through some more inconsequential small talk. Yet, his stomach was growling, and knowing that Alice had made him pancakes made him feel a tad obligated to go enjoy them. Clyde didn’t care for pancakes - too doughy, too many carbs - and so Mickey knew they truly wouldn’t be eaten otherwise. 

“Fine. I’ll come up.” Mickey squeezed the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb, trying to ease the tension headache that was already beginning to bloom behind his eyes. “But I’m having a fuckin’ smoke first.” And before Clyde could say another word he hung up. 

*

Mickey had emerged from the rec room and taken his sweet ass time having a long, leisurely cigarette out on the veranda. While doing so, he had made up his mind to play it as calm and collected as possible with Clyde. As much as he would want to detonate like a time bomb at every little passive aggressive dig that was sure to come, Mickey reminded himself that he still needed things to be habitable in the house, until he figured out what the fuck he was going to do about whatever he and Ian had going on. 

Upon shambling into the kitchen, Mickey saw Clyde sitting comfortably at the small breakfast table near the bay window. He had a newspaper stretched out in his hands, and his glasses were seated so low on face that they looked like they might fall off altogether. 

“Ah, you’ve finally decided to grace me with your presence, _sunshine_.” Clyde made the nickname somehow sound threatening, and he had yet to look up from the paper. When Mickey sat across from him, Clyde sniffed the air and dramatically fanned his hand in front of his nose before putting the paper down and looking directly at Mickey across the table. “God, when are you going to kick that filthy habit? You smell like an ashtray. My lungs are healthier than yours at this point, what with you smoking like a goddamn chimney.” 

Mickey glared dead ahead at the table, focusing on the full mug of coffee and perfectly prepared plate of pancakes, which Alice had stacked and buttered, just how he liked it. He reached for the syrup, and actively fought the urge to point out to his husband that, _one_ , he only went through a pack and half a day at the very most, and _two_ , Clyde was one of the foremost reasons why his urge to chain smoke had been so overpowering. Mickey practically had to bite down on his tongue to stop from mouthing off. 

“You just call me up here to read me the riot act, or d’you have somethin’ you actually wanna say to me?” Mickey questioned, diving fork first into the stack of pancakes and shoving a large portion into his mouth all at once. He made sure to chew loudly, with his mouth wide open, in the exact way that would drive Clyde around the bend. Even if Mickey wasn’t going to lash out, he didn’t see anything wrong with being a petty little bitch. “You got till I’m done eating, then I’m going back down to the rec room. So I’d start talkin’, if I were you.” He recognized the words sounded a little less hostile spoken around a mouthful of food. 

Clyde arched his recently threaded eyebrow at Mickey (his beautician had stopped by on Thursday), and opened his mouth. “I’m off to make house calls for the day so I thought I’d let you know in case you wanted to join the world of the living once more,” he glared distastefully at Mickey, likely due to the sloppy way he was choosing to eat his food. “Instead of being six feet underground like you have been all week.”

“I’ve been doing just fuckin’ fine, thanks.” Mickey snapped back, and then carefully reeled himself in with a deep breath. “Just takin’ some time to myself, is all. Didn’t know that was a crime.” He took a lengthy sip from the piping hot mug of coffee - the special blend Alice had been bragging about since last week, the freshly roasted beans that Nico had brought with him from Mexico for her to try. 

“It _is_ , when your side of the bed is still made up every morning. You really must come back upstairs.” Clyde folded up the paper and set it on the table in front of him, taking his glasses off before continuing. “There isn’t a bed down there for you to be sleeping on. You have to be careful with your back - you won’t be young and healthy forever.” He feigned worry for Mickey to disguise the fact that he selfishly wanted Mickey back in their bed. As cross as he'd been with Mickey, Clyde hadn’t been touched by his husband in far too long, and he thought it was about time that changed.

“I like it down there. Good place to think.” Mickey shrugged nonchalantly, shifting in his seat. “Anyway. Good for you, going back to work. Teeth won’t clean ‘emself, I guess.” Despite his unbothered outward appearance, Mickey was once more overcome with excitement when it finally sunk in that Clyde would actually be leaving the house - for the whole day no less.

“Well, I just wanted to see you before I left, so I appreciate you tearing yourself away from… whatever it is that keeps you so occupied down there.” Clyde pursed his lips and stood from the table with his coffee mug, already dressed and eager to get back to the true love of his life - his _work._ “Perhaps if you were willing, you could come up again this evening when I return? Things have been strange lately, and I think it’s time we discuss our issues like adults, don’t you?”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.” Mickey had effectively stopped listening as he pushed the remnants of syrup soaked pancake around on his plate, and most likely would have agreed to anything in that moment. He immediately had visions of sending Ian a text and having the man arrive at his door so quickly his sneakers would be smoking. He felt his organs trying to rearrange themselves, yet for barely a second, Mickey felt his elation weighed down by the cold hard reality of his situation. Was it an incredibly risky and ill-advised move to invite his lover over the very second his husband stepped out the door, especially after such a tension filled week of merely coexisting? Yes.

Was Mickey going to ignore all common sense and do it anyway? 

_Abso-fuckin’-lutely._

*

As Ian stood in front of his bathroom mirror that morning, brushing his teeth and staring at the missing chip in the glass that had been there since he’d moved in, he received a text from his favorite person. Despite being half asleep, Ian felt instantly alert as he grabbed at his phone to see what had Mickey messaging so damn early. He fumbled his phone in surprise at reading the two texts.

Mickey (8:20): _He’s going on house calls all day. Come over._

Mickey (8:20): _Please._

Ian scrambled to catch his phone and held it up, inches away from his face, reading and re-reading the short messages several times through. He had been getting ready to head out to the gym before actually going grocery shopping for the first time in ages - however upon Mickey’s request his purpose in life immediately became singular. Groceries could fucking _wait_.

Ian (8:22): _I’ll be there. Just let me know when._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed! As always, we wanna hear what you thought of the chapter so please leave kudos and comments friends! We’re gonna be switching to posting on a bi-weekly basis now, because as the plot thickens it takes us more time to make sure everything is working plot wise! The next chapter will be up two weeks from now on either Sunday or Monday! Much love as always <3


	11. Sounds good, boyfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for waiting patiently! We’re back with a 23k word chapter (our longest yet!!!) and we’re so excited for you to read <3 
> 
> Find the authors on Insta/Twitter/Tumblr:
> 
> Jinlin5: Insta (@gallavich_doodles) // Tumblr (@doodlevich)
> 
> camnoelgallavich: Insta (@cam.monaghanfan) // Twitter (@cam_monaghanfan)
> 
> Enjoy! <3

Contrary to popular belief, and the infamous reputation of his family namesake, Mickey had never gotten wrapped up in the world of drugs the way his father or brothers had. Being the only family member with any sort of common sense, Mickey often found himself running the business side of things - arranging drop-offs and pickups, negotiating prices, making sure whatever contraband they were trying to move was something they could actually get a decent price for. As a result, he tended to stay away from sampling any of the ‘merchandise’, while explaining to the numbskulls that he had the misfortune of calling  _ family _ that drugs and numbers don’t fucking mix.  _ Someone _ needed to have a clear head in the Milkovich operation. 

Of course, Mickey smoked weed. Mostly it was to take the edge off of when things started to get too overwhelming or depressing, since growing up in that god-awful shack on Trumbull Ave. had a way of destroying a person from the inside out. Sometimes a little herb was just the thing to help Mickey escape his reality for a short while. But other than that, he’d only ever done a few rails of coke upon Iggy’s persistent request, and of course there was the one time Mandy had dragged him kicking and screaming out to a club in Boystown and somehow convinced him to pop some molly before pushing him onto the dance floor. 

That being said, standing where he was now - peeking out from one of the upstairs windows and watching his husband’s car back out of the driveway - Mickey couldn’t imagine a better high. His body vibrated with exhilaration as he typed out a message to Ian, and hit send. 

Mickey (9:37):  _ Okay he’s gone. Get over here. Now.  _

Mickey (9:38):  _ Gonna have to be careful though. Maid is still here.  _

Mickey (9:38):  _ Gotta sneak u in.  _

Ian snorted as he read the message, placing the jug of orange juice back in the fridge. He’d gotten dressed right after receiving Mickey’s first message earlier that morning, and at the insistence of his growling stomach, he’d decided to make breakfast for himself to kill time. He’d kept his phone handy as he cooked steak for his breakfast burritos, which had nearly led to him burning the pan as he waited for Mickey’s texts to arrive. Since he was barely able to settle down enough to eat one serving for breakfast, he’d packed the second one in a tupperware container and decided to bring it to share with Mickey. That way the food wouldn’t go to waste and he was returning the favor for Mickey’s food delivery the other day, all in one go. Ian’s stomach had been doing flips as he tried to scarf down his food, his excitement building exponentially. The smile on his lips seemed to be permanent. 

Ian (9:38):  _ Bring a suitcase out to the car and I’ll climb in.  _

Ian (9:38):  _ A big one. Cause you know… I wouldn’t fit into a carryon like you would.  _

Ian chuckled at his joke, knowing that Mickey would definitely seek payback for it later. He quickly glanced around the kitchen to make sure he had cleaned up after himself before grabbing the few things he wanted to bring with him and heading over to the front door to slip into his sneakers.

Mickey (9:40):  _ Listen bitch, one more crack about my height and I’m uninviting ur stupid ass. _

Mickey (9:40):  _ now c’mere before I change my mind. _

Leaning back to glance down the hallway, Mickey could see Alice entering his bedroom with a basket, setting out to do their laundry as was her custom every Saturday morning. Chewing on his bottom lip, Mickey was struck by an idea while he watched the woman bend to pick up the various items of Mickey’s clothing scattered around the floor. 

Mickey (9:41):  _ Let me know when ur in the neighborhood. She’s gonna be in the laundry room at some point. Then I’ll give u the all clear.  _

Ian (9:44):  _ I’ll be there in 30. Leaving now.  _

Once he made it out of his apartment complex, Ian booked it up the street and arrived at the bus stop just as the bus started to pull away from the sidewalk. Letting out a relieved breath when it actually stopped and allowed him to climb on, he scanned his card and thanked the bus driver before holding onto the closest rail possible, feeling the bus jerk into motion. 

Ian (9:46):  _ I just ran for your ass. Say thank you, bitch.  _

Mickey (9:47):  _ let’s make a deal. I’ll thank u after you pound me into next fuckin week, how’s that sound? _

With her basket now full, Mickey watched out of the corner of his eye as Alice took one last sweep around the room before turning and exiting. She looked a little surprised to see him standing at the end of the hall, by the window, but she paused at the top of the staircase and smiled brightly all the same. 

“Mickey!” Alice greeted him, and he waved back politely, although his mind was preoccupied. “I heard you met my son earlier this week! I hope he didn’t talk your ear off - he told me you asked about his work. Nico’s very passionate about what he does.” 

Mickey took a few steps away from the window and towards the maid, idly flipping his phone around in his hand. “Nah, don’t worry about it. It was actually interesting to talk to someone whose job doesn’t make ‘em wanna jump out a fuckin’ window at least once a week.” He meant it sincerely, and he even considered telling her about how the interaction had spurned on his own interests. Ultimately, Mickey decided it was not the time or the place. 

*

Ian rode the bus well into the Northside of town. After being dropped off at the nearest bus stop, Ian set off at a brisk pace, jogging the one and a half miles to Mickey’s gated community. The last few times he’d arrived in the company truck, he’d been buzzed through the gate after they checked their schedule. Currently, there wasn’t a guard manning the gate, so Ian climbed over the wrought iron fence and jumped down onto the grass before making his way to the sidewalk. 

Ian (10:15):  _ I’m a few houses away. What do you want me to do? _

_ * _

After a few more pleasantries, Alice had made her way down into the foyer. Mickey had waited until she was at the base of the stairs before following along behind her. He tried to do it in the least suspicious way, but either way it didn’t matter because Alice didn’t seem to notice him. She hummed to herself quietly as she went along, stopping to shift the laundry basket up 

higher on her hip between the sitting room and the kitchen. 

Mickey trailed after her all the way, just far enough behind that it wouldn’t seem intentional if she were to turn around. In the kitchen, he came to a halt as he observed Alice strolling down the hallway connecting the kitchen and Clyde’s office, just off of which branched their laundry room. Beside Mickey, the dogs stirred in their beds, which were positioned for them to catch the most sunlight under the bay windows, and he gave them both pointed looks. Miraculously, neither dog let out a peep. 

When Alice finally pivoted herself into the laundry room and saw the door swing shut behind her, Mickey pulled out his phone and read Ian’s latest text. 

Mickey (10:16):  _ comin’ to the front door now. We don’t got long, so hurry.  _

With that, Mickey took off for the foyer again. Normally, he would never even consider having Ian come in through the front - however given the circumstances, it was currently the easiest point of access in and out of the house. Once he reached the double doors, Mickey pulled them open a crack, just enough to see out into the front yard. 

“C’mon Gallagher…” Mickey hissed under his breath, willing himself to see the redhead approaching any minute. They just had to make it to the rec room, and they were home free.

Ian sprinted the last few feet past the neighbors house and onto the property, glancing around for any sign of life outside the house as he hung back behind a hedge. He knew Mickey said the coast was clear, but it couldn’t hurt to double check. He didn’t see anyone in the large, circular driveway or by the back gate, so he stepped onto the gravel with a little extra confidence. When he saw Mickey standing in the doorway waiting for him, dressed in a black crew neck and light wash jeans, Ian couldn’t help himself from breaking out into a run, as the smile on his face grew wider. The plastic container nestled under his arm must’ve looked ridiculous as he hurried over to Mickey, jumping up the two front steps and holding it out to him as he panted. 

“Hi…” Ian exhaled, trying to keep his balance on the small ledge and reaching out to hold onto Mickey’s waist in an attempt to stop himself from falling back. 

“We ain’t got time for that shit,” Mickey grumbled, keeping his voice down and pulling Ian forcefully through the doorway, and staying behind for a moment to make sure the heavy doors closed and locked softly. As much as he wanted to have Ian press him up against a wall and kiss the hell out of him, Mickey suddenly became very aware of how exposed they were. “Fuckin’ c’mon, this way.” He hissed, grabbing onto Ian’s wrist and tugged him through the foyer. 

Ian followed along but twisted his wrist out of Mickey’s grasp, grabbing his hand instead. They snuck past the sitting room and towards the kitchen, taking a turn at the last second, heading down the basement steps. Ian recognized the route they were taking - Mickey had brought him down this far the last time he’d been over, when they’d taken a shower in the nearby bathroom. He hadn’t been past the bathroom, but he allowed Mickey to continue yanking him in the direction of the rec room. They paused outside of the door, and Ian caught sight of the shiny new lock Mickey had installed. Ian couldn’t help but grin adoringly at the back of Mickey’s head.

Mickey could feel Ian’s eyes on him as he checked over his shoulder, gazing back up the basement steps to make certain that they were truly alone. When he turned back he was immediately confronted by Ian’s wide smile, which made the freckles bounce on his cheeks. “What’s with the look?” Mickey asked sharply. 

“Oh nothin’... just proud of my little handyman.” Ian cooed teasingly as he nodded in the direction of the lock. He pursed his lips before he reached for the handle and pushed the door open, holding onto the prized doorknob. He wanted to kiss Mickey so fucking badly, but Ian knew by the way the man was nervously still glancing around that they weren’t in the clear yet. 

“Shut the fuck up and get in there,” Mickey shook his head and shoved Ian through the door. The way Ian could instantly fluster him was as maddening as it was appealing. Once the door had shut behind him and Mickey had flipped the lock, he felt some of the anxiety of being caught instantly dissipate, replaced by the excitement of having Ian all to himself for hours on end. 

Ian stumbled in with a laugh and set the plastic container on a small table near the door. He didn’t even give myself time to look around the room, instead swiveling back around when he heard the door lock. Before Mickey had the chance to turn around, Ian bear hugged him from behind without warning, encasing the man in his eager arms. He pressed his face into Mickey’s neck and inhaled for a second, letting his eyes flutter shut as he held onto his lover, pecking gently at his neck. 

The moment Ian’s warm weight draped over his back, Mickey felt instantly secure. He’d always hated being held by Clyde - it felt like more a straight jacket than genuine affection. But Ian, once again, was sparking something inside of him. The need to be held and comforted. He hadn’t realized he was missing it as much as he was. The kisses Ian was dappling on the back of his neck weren’t hurting either, and for a moment Mickey closed his eyes and let the feeling sink into his bones. 

“Gonna let me show you around?” Mickey managed to croak out, reaching his hand to the right of the door to flick on the light switch, illuminating the room behind them. 

“Just gimme a minute… You smell so fucking good.” He mumbled, reaching for one of Mickey’s hands and wrapping his larger palm around it. He kept his other hand on Mickey’s stomach, feeling the warmth underneath his palm. It had only been a week since he’d last been this close to Mickey, but he felt better than he had in days - just feeling Mickey’s solid body against his, feeling him take every breath. 

Mickey huffed but let Ian do his thing. “You’re so fuckin’ weird, man.” He grumbled, but the smile turning up the corners of his mouth told a different story. He still felt high, giddy on the rush of sneaking Ian inside. “By the way, whatcha got in that container?” Mickey eyed the mysterious tupperware suspiciously.

“Breakfast. I made two burritos this morning, but I only ate one. Brought the other one for you.” He kissed Mickey’s neck again and then pulled away to pick up the container and pass it to Mickey. “My brothers really like when I make these.” He shrugged shyly, tamping down his expectations in the event that Mickey tried it and hated it. 

When Ian finally peeled himself off of his back, Mickey took the opportunity to turn around and size Ian up properly. He looked as handsome as ever in his light patterned short sleeve button down over a green tank and shorts. There was something heartwarming about seeing him holding out the container towards Mickey, with an almost nervous expression on his face. Mickey took the little Tupperware container and cracked it open. The delicious smell wafted through and he inhaled, his mouth watering. 

“Well, it smells way better than it looks, I’ll give you that. Thanks…” Mickey ribbed him, but nodded appreciatively and closed the container again. He looked passed Ian then, motioning towards the rest of the room. “Now turn around. I got some shit I wanna show you.” 

Ian spun around as instructed, spurned on by Mickey’s apparent enthusiasm. He didn’t want to be presumptuous, but Ian was pretty sure Mickey’s excitement was the fucking  _ cutest _ thing he’s ever witnessed - and he didn’t like to use the word lightly. 

Looking to his right first, Ian first saw the huge leather sectional, followed by the massive flat screen tv on the wall behind it. It was three times the size of Ian’s tv, if not larger, and Ian had to resist letting out an impressed whistle. Directly underneath the TV, the entertainment center was jam packed with technology, including every gaming console Ian could name, plus a few that looked foreign to him, clearly imported from other parts of the world. “Holy shit.” He mumbled as he continued to scan the room, taking in the pool table to his left, along with the row of old school arcade machines lined up against the back wall.

“Pretty fuckin’ sweet huh?” Mickey planted his hands on his hips and took pride in Ian’s expression. There were many things Mickey was ashamed of when it came to the life he had carved out for himself in the Northside, but his rec room wasn’t one of them. He only began to feel a bit self-conscious when there was no response from Ian. Maybe it was a dick move to show off his riches? It suddenly hit him that Ian may not be as impressed as he’d hoped. 

“Dude! THIS IS FUCKING AMAZING!” Ian exclaimed in excitement, feeling like a kid in a candy store as he headed towards the row of machines. “Do you have one of those car games too? The racing ones with the steering wheel?  _ Please _ say you do. Lip and I used to-“ He glanced around and then slapped his hand over his lips. “Oh wait shit, am I being too loud? You’re sure this is soundproof?” 

Mickey snorted back a laugh at Ian’s enthusiastic response. “Am I fuckin’- of course I’m sure, dumbass!” Mickey chuckled, needling Ian in the ribs before walking past “ _ Shithead _ wouldn’t be able to handle being able to hear me blastin’ music twenty-four-seven.” Mickey rolled his eyes upward to indicate exactly the  _ shithead _ he was referring too. “Also a car  _ game?  _ Jesus you’re spending too much time around toddlers. But yeah, I got somethin’ like that.” Mickey pointed out his mint condition  _ Virtua Racing  _ arcade machine, which was positioned between his favorite  _ Iron Maiden _ pinball and  _ Street Fighter II  _ machines - complete with it’s original steering column. Watching Ian’s eyes widen at the sight brought him instant gratification. 

Ian put his hands on the back of the faux-leather race car seat and he beamed at the screen while the glow of multicolored lights reflected on his face. “Woah…” He watched the different tracks cycle through on the screen for a minute, before reminding himself that he came to fuck around with Mickey, not Mickey’s toys. He broke away from the screen and wandered over to stand next to him. “This is so fucking cool. I bet I can beat your high score, and I’m willing to put money on it. That okay with you?” He held out his hand for Mickey to shake, creating yet another promise between them. 

“As long as you don’t mind gettin’ your ass handed to you,” Mickey agreed, accepting the handshake. It was kind of thrilling - the realization that he finally had someone to share his prized possessions with. Clyde had never cared, not even for a second. He had certainly pretended in the beginning, but it was a facade that hadn’t lasted long. As his hand landed in Ian’s, Mickey shook it firmly before the gesture melted into something a little softer - less like friends, more like lovers. 

Mickey squeezed at Ian’s palm and then stopped resisting his urges, using the grip to reel the taller man in towards him. Ian let it happen, and soon they were chest to chest, nose to nose. Mickey found himself staring into the forests of Ian’s eyes, happy to lose himself. He had never been looking for romance - Mickey had always just figured he wasn’t the type to be swept off his feet. There had been no sweeping with Clyde. 

Ian let out a soft chuckle as he gazed at Mickey, feeling suddenly and irrationally shy. It was a novel feeling for him - he wasn’t typically insecure with his love interests, and he certainly wasn’t shy about being blunt in expressing his desires. With Mickey, things proved to be different, yet again. Ian found himself fighting nerves that he hadn’t experienced since he was a teenager, crushing on random boys at school and whispering about them into Mandy's ear. His only option was to try and ground himself, closing his eyes and gliding the tip of his nose against Mickey’s before resting his forehead against Mickey’s. 

Ian squeezed Mickey’s hips lightly before he spoke. “Don’t ask me why, but you make me so damn  _ nervous… _ in a good way.” Ian whispered, unable to hold it in any longer. “I shouldn’t have told you that, but  _ fuck, _ it’s the truth. I can barely handle my shit around you.” He confessed, as if Mickey somehow couldn’t have guessed from their previous encounters. At the moment, with Mickey so close, Ian was so overwhelmed that he could barely handle to look Mickey in the eyes - a feeling better than words could express. 

Mickey felt the warm puffs of Ian’s breath with each word, and the sensation of feeling, and falling and  _ loving _ was so overpowering he almost had to take a step back. Ian’s  _ everything _ was surrounding him, in every way possible, and Mickey could feel his internal organs gnarling and twisting up with emotions he couldn’t verbalize. He knew he needed to try though, because the feeling was like acid, burning it’s way to the surface. There were some things he knew Ian deserved to hear, especially after the way Mickey knew he had flubbed the  _ boyfriend _ incident. 

“I… uh.” Mickey cleared his throat, and his nose bumped against Ian’s once again, so soft, so intimate. The closeness was driving him wild. “I get it, man. I really do.” His eyes darted to the side - Ian’s hopeful look was making his stomach flip like a kid on a trampoline. “I…  _ like _ you. A lot.” Mickey felt like a moron saying it, but the only thing that could have sounded worse was admitting the truth. __

_ I think I might love you. It might be way too fucking early, way too fucking fast. But, I think I might love you. _

It was impossible. And foolish. Mickey clenched his fists because he’d been trying so hard to not even admit it to himself, for nearly a month now. The motherfucker had just  _ gotten _ there and Ian was already unravelling him 

Ian nodded before he found the strength to open his mouth and echo Mickey. “I like you a lot too.” He kept his voice caged and low, because his insides felt like they were melting and truth be told, and there wasn’t much air in his lungs left to expend. He’d felt Mickey’s hands turn into fists against the back of his shirt and he reached back to grab them, pulling them around in front of him and kissing the back of Mickey’s hands, assuming that he’d balled them up due to the frustration of being so vulnerable. Ian had been with his fair share of Southsiders - and being one himself, he knew that expression emotions often felt like pulling teeth. Mickey’s face had turned a deeper shade of pink, and Ian understood the reaction completely.

“That’s why we keep doing this, right?” Ian prompted, finally looking into Mickey’s eyes as he pulled Mickey’s hands away from his lips. Tenderly, he worked Mickey’s fists open, smoothly interlocking their fingers. After a closer look, Ian’s half-smile dropped from his face at the sight of Mickey’s bruised ring finger. 

“What  _ the fuck _ happened?” He asked in a sharper tone than he meant to, dropping Mickey’s other hand and holding the left one with both of his own, inspecting it closely. There were deep indentations on either side of where Mickey’s ring would normally be, the marks themselves dark blue and the bruising around it yellowing. His gaze dropped lower to find bruises on multiple knuckles on the same hand. “What happened?” He repeated himself, looking up at Mickey. 

“Oh…  _ shit _ .” Mickey’s eyes widened as he realized what Ian seemed suddenly enraged by. His knuckles had been healing and he barely noticed the ache anymore, so he hadn’t even thought about what it would look like to Ian. “It’s nothing, alright?” Mickey insisted, only wincing slightly as he pulled his hands away from Ian’s grip. He backed up a half step and turned his hand over, inspecting the mark left by his wedding ring. “I just got pissed off and… punched a wall. It was fucking stupid. Haven’t done that shit in years.” Mickey babbled. He felt a bit ashamed that he was having to explain himself. “Looks way worse than it was.” He added. 

“It’s not  _ nothing _ , Mickey.” Ian tried to keep his voice calm so that Mickey wouldn’t back away from him again. “If  _ he _ pissed you off to the point where you punched a fuckin’ wall, it’s not okay.” Ian wasn’t about to claim that he was a stranger to inflicting harm on himself or his property in such a manner. Admittedly, he had experienced his fair share of dramatic teenage moments in the past, during which he’d punched a wall or two. However, seeing the scrapes and bruises on Mickey’s normally pristine pale skin scared the ever-loving shit out of him. 

Ian stepped forward and carefully took Mickey’s hand again, staring at it, as if he could will the bruises away. “You don’t deserve the shit he puts you through, Mick.” Ian shook his head sadly.

“I know that.” Mickey insisted, his tone adamant. “You think I don’t know? But what the hell am I supposed to do when-“ His voice dropped off, drowned out by his own thoughts. “I’ve just… gotta put up with it for right now. It ain’t fuckin’ easy. But I don’t got a choice.” It was a lie, and Mickey knew it, because he was pretty goddamn sure his  _ choice _ was standing right in front of him, lightly caressing the marks on his hands. 

Ian set his lips in a thin line. Controlling his urge to argue had gotten easier as he’d gotten older, yet he still found it difficult at times like this. It wasn’t his place to tell Mickey what to do, even when an obvious answer was right in front of them - he’d learned that the hard way. Mickey hadn’t worn his ring twice in a row now, and that might not mean much, but Ian had a feeling that maybe it did. 

He ran his thumb over the back of Mickey’s hand one more time before letting go of it and clearing his throat. “Can I get some water? It’s really hot out, and  _ someone _ forced me to run here.” 

“Not my fault you were takin’ your good goddamn time getting here.” Mickey countered, happy for the abrupt change in subject. He turned and pulled Ian across the room with him, until he reached the liquor cabinet. “And I can do ya one better,” Mickey smirked, bending to swing one of the cabinet doors open to reveal the mini fridge housed inside.

“Think there’s bottled water shoved somewhere way back in this bitch. Or-,” Mickey reached an arm into the fridge and pulled out two bottles of Old Style, “-you can not be a gigantic pussy and have a beer with me.” Mickey held both bottles in one hand, gripping the necks between his fingers and waving them up in Ian’s face. “Your choice, man.” He shrugged. 

Ian rolled his eyes at Mickey’s taunting. “It’s not even eleven yet. This doesn’t even count as day-drinking, it’s morning-drinking right now.” He shook his head, but he did relent, “Fine, I’ll have one.” He quickly thought through his checklist - he’d taken his morning meds, he had food in his stomach, and he’d probably be here for hours and sober up before he left. Ian decided one beer wouldn’t kill him. He held his wrist out to be an asshole. “Drag me to another part of the room now, sir. We’ve been standing in one spot for too long.” He teased. Ian found Mickey pulling him around awfully endearing and he had to squeeze yet another a joke into the conversation to further lighten the mood. 

Mickey groaned aloud at Ian’s mocking - it was all the confirmation he needed that he was acting like an absolute dork, and Ian was reading him loud and clear. To cover his embarrassment, Mickey popped the cap of one of the beers off using the bottle opener he selected from the many decorative ones scattered on the table top, and handed it to Ian while he busied himself with removing the cap on his own bottle. “Shitty jokes like that are why you’re getting beer, and not the good stuff,” Mickey directed Ian’s attention to the various bottles of expensive alcohol lining the back of the cabinet. Rum, whiskey, tequila, and even a few bottles of vintage wine that had been anniversary presents from Clyde before the man had caught on to the fact that Mickey hated the shit. 

“Good thing I’m a cheap date and I barely drink any of that shit anyway.” Ian raised his beer happily and then took a swig. It was a little too early for the taste of beer in his mouth, but he decided to suck it up for Mickey’s sake. “You know what would go great with this though?” Ian asked as he set his beer down on a coaster on top of the cabinet. He pulled a small ziplock baggie of joints out of his jacket pocket. Now it was his turn to wave something in Mickey’s face. “Whatcha think?” 

Mickey blinked and instantly counted the joints in the baggie. There were three of them, sizable and well-rolled to boot. Mickey had spent many days in his youth having contests with his brothers to see who could roll the best looking joint, and so he knew a gorgeous technique when he saw it. He glanced between Ian’s grinning face and the baggie before snatching it from his hands and opening it up to take a whiff. The pungent smell instantly transported him back in time, and it was bitter and sweet all at once. He hadn’t gotten high in so long, and the thought of indulging with Ian made him feel so young again. 

“Holy  _ shit _ ,” Mickey chuckled gleefully, placing his beer down beside Ian’s to pluck a joint from the baggie, holding it close to his face to inspect it. “You really are Southside, huh Gallagher? Walkin’ around with jays in your pocket like a real badass. Good shit?” He questioned, although he knew that it didn’t have to be  _ too _ good - after years of abstinence Mickey was sure he’d be the king of all lightweights. But he wasn’t about to let Ian know that. 

“‘Course.” Ian shrugged casually and took another sip from the lip of his bottle. “But… if you’re gonna challenge me to a game of pool, we gotta do it while we’re still sober. I don’t want to hear any excuses when you lose.” 

Mickey handed the baggie back to Ian and took a long drink from his beer before slamming it back down on the cabinet, not bothering to aim for the coaster. He took a step closer to the man, and curled his fingers around the collar of Ian’s open button down, bringing their faces close together once again. Mickey just couldn’t resist the thrill of it, the way he knew it sent Ian reeling. He watched Ian’s hand extend out to place his beer back down

“Tough talk,” Mickey hummed, ghosting his lips over Ian’s, barely letting the skin graze before pulling away, out of the man’s reach. He slid away with a laugh, yanking two pool cues out of their wall bracket where they were hanging just above the liquor cabinet. “But you gotta prove you got the skills to back it up, Red.” He stretched the cue out in Ian’s direction and arched one eyebrow challengingly. 

Mickey clearly knew exactly what he was doing, but this time, Ian was quick to come out of his stupor. He knocked the cue out of Mickey’s hand with a fair amount of force, and even though he heard a crack as it hit the floor, he didn’t even care to look at where it could have gone. He surged forward, both hands outstretched to grab at Mickey as he crashed their lips together.  _ Finally. _

Ian sighed into Mickey’s mouth as he walked him backwards until his spine was firmly pressed against the wall beside the cue rack. The chaste kiss was only the beginning. Ian tilted his head and opened his mouth, happily licking along Mickey’s tongue when he was met by the man’s eagerly parted lips. He moaned as he felt his body respond to the taste of Mickey, reaching down and grabbing the back of Mickey’s thigh to wrap around his hip. “You can’t tease me like that and not kiss me. Should be fuckin’ illegal.” Ian panted, explaining away the sudden attack, licking his lips and looking down at Mickey.

Mickey heard his own pool cue clatter to the ground as he let it slip from his grip. He knew his face was heating up, but he snickered mischievously anyway, as if he was not nearly as wrecked by Ian’s classic forwardness as he actually was. “Not illegal,” He gasped, hooking his ankle around the back of Ian’s knee tightly to give him greater purchase, as his fingers dug into the man’s back. “You just can’t fuckin’ control yourself.” Mickey could literally see the rebuttal forming on Ian’s lips, and so he dove in again, sloppily kissing away the words and rendering Ian effectively mute, except for the groan that slipped from between. He allowed the shameless makeout session to go on for a few moments longer, until he felt Ian’s needy hands groping for his ass, at which point Mickey disconnected their lips sharply. 

“Fucker. You’re cheating already.” Mickey growled, shoving Ian back playfully, with just enough force to get the job done. “You don’t get the damn prize unless you beat me fair and fucking square.” He took advantage of the reprieve from Ian’s loving assault to swoop down and latch onto his discarded pool cue. “Hold on, where did your-“ Mickey blinked and if he could have, he would have rubbed at his eyes like he was in a Saturday morning cartoon. He literally couldn’t believe it. There on the floor, under the pool table, was the pool cue Ian had knocked out of his hand, snapped nearly in half. It was still hanging on by a few shreds of wood, but there was no mistake it was done for - Ian Gallagher truly did not know his own strength. 

“Are you saying you’re a prize to be won? Jesus, did you learn nothing from Aladdin?” Ian mumbled, taking a sip of his beer and taking out his phone to show Mickey a picture of Franny watching the movie with him a few weeks prior. 

“Cool it with the Disney shit and look at what you fuckin’ did!” Mickey marched over to pick up the broken pool cue, finishing the job by snapping it the rest of the way. “How have you been here for like twenty minutes and you’re already destroying my shit.” Mickey offered the broken pieces up in his hands, shaking them like drum sticks. “Like, seriously. How the hell is this even possible?!” 

Ian’s jaw dropped. “I- uh, oh… shit sorry.” He babbled as he walked forward and took the cue from Mickey’s hands. “Uhhh… I can glue it back together?” He offered apologetically, poking his bottom lip out for the effect.

Mickey scoffed. “Just go get another one. This one musta been defective or warped or somethin’, I mean, you’re not the fuckin’ hulk!” He laughed with a shake of his head, biting the inside of his cheek as he thought about how Ian had managed to break something else. The ridiculousness of it was beyond him, but he couldn’t help himself from finding Ian’s strength oddly attractive. Upon seeing the look on Ian’s face, Mickey sighed fondly. “You don’t gotta pout. Shit happens. At least it wasn’t more of  _ his _ shit.” Mickey reminded him. Actually, he was quite glad it wasn’t anything he’d have to explain away to his husband. “Bring the beer while you’re at it. Unless you think you’ll fuckin’ smash that too on the way over.”

Ian groaned at Mickey’s mocking, but he couldn’t really blame him. He gently set the pieces of the cue onto the cabinet and then brought over Mickey’s beer along with his own. He decided to milk the pout for all it’s worth, having heard the change in Mickey’s tone moments ago, and attempting to use it to his advantage. “How about a kiss? Might make me feel better.” 

“I dunno. Will it get you to quit whining so we can play the goddamn game?” Mickey shot back, but he leaned in and pressed his lips to Ian’s in a short but sweet kiss, without letting the man answer. “There. You happy? Now lemme set up the game.” 

Ian snickered, hanging on to both beers as he perched on the back of the sofa and watched Mickey rack the balls. “You know, I don’t purposefully break shit. The last two times we were both at fault… and this time, well, maybe it was all an elaborate scheme to get another kiss. You can’t exactly blame me.” 

Mickey stretched over the pool table, making sure to arch his hips and really give Ian a show. “You make it real difficult not to tell you to shut your yap, ya know.” He huffed, rounding up the balls into the triangular rack and making sure they stood perfectly still before removing it. Mickey took a step back to survey his work, before reaching back, gesturing for Ian to hand him the bottle. “Alright, man, you ready for me to take your ass to the cleaners or what?” 

Ian was struck by a mischievous idea as he passed Mickey his beer. “Well… it has been awhile since I’ve played.”  _ Lie #1 _ , “And, I’m not that good anyway…”  _ Lie #2 _ . He held up the cue upside down. “I think I might need you to remind me how to hold this again.” _ Lie #3 _ , “I’ve already broken one, don’t want to break another…” Laying it on thick. 

Mickey had a strange feeling he was being duped, but he played along anyway. “Get over here then. Lemme show you.” 

Ian walked over and held the cue out onto the table in the wrong direction, bending over a bit in front of Mickey. “Yeah, I don’t think this is right.” He looked over his shoulder at Mickey. 

Mickey gave Ian a look of long suffering and snagged the pool cue from his hands. He knew for certain now the redhead was trying to pull a fast one on him, but he was a little interested in seeing how long Ian could keep it up. “First of all, you hold it this way, dipshit,” Mickey chuckled and returned the cue back to Ian the proper way around. “And, I think you fuckin’ know that.” Mickey hummed close to Ian’s ear. “Lemme guess, next you’re gonna wanna make a bet or something?” 

“You want to bet me?” Ian gave Mickey proper doe eyes and looked down at him. “I mean  _ alright _ , but it won’t be a fair fight, cause you know…” He aimed and took a fake shot, driving the tip of the cue into the air. “Um… I think I need more help. It’s not supposed to do that.” Ian knew it was getting unrealistic now, but he had already committed to the act.

“That’s right, keep playing dumb,” Mickey grunted, stepping up behind Ian and gripping around his wrists, and guiding him to lower the pool cue and his chest toward the table to take aim. 

The angle was awkward because of the way Mickey was guiding him, and so Ian decided to give him some encouragement. “If you don’t put your hands over mine like a fucking man, I’m gonna elbow you in the dick.” He stated matter-of-factly. Ian felt Mickey breathe out forcefully against the back of his neck, but he complied anyway, clamping his hands over top of Ian’s.

It was a little difficult with the height difference, but Mickey managed to get Ian to haul back, after lining up perfectly with the cue ball, and they shunted the stick forward in unison. There was the usual crack of impact as the cue ball spun out and crashed into the racked balls, splitting up the formation. Ian and Mickey both watched as the balls scattered, and one striped ball rolled along, eventually teetering on the edge before dropping into the pocket. 

With a smirk, Mickey gave Ian one last squeeze, innocuously pushing his hips forward and up to press against Ian’s ass before backing away and picking up his own cue from the side of the table. “Looks like you’re stripes and I’m solids. And thanks to me, you’re already in the lead. Now what do I get when I win?” 

Ian flipped him off. “You get to kiss my ass.”

Mickey returned the gesture, before swiftly taking aim with his own cue and pocketing his first solid ball without even blinking. “Sounds like more of a punishment than a prize, man.” He joked. 

“I hate you.” Ian grumbled and then intentionally fumbled his first shot, keeping up the facade. 

“Yeah whatever,” Mickey watched Ian clumsily miss the cue ball a few times, hitting it at an angle that no reasonable person would ever attempt. Unsurprisingly, the ball did not reach its destination. “How about,  _ when _ I win, you get to kiss  _ my _ ass.” Mickey tilted his head back and took a swig of his beer before skirting the table and lining up another perfect shot. He waited until the ball was pocketed and then faced Ian with a smirk. “Sounds like a win-win scenario to me.” 

“Yeah? You sure you wanna make that bet?” Ian asked, sidling up to Mickey and intentionally pressing against him as he leant over to pick up his beer. Ian took a drink and swallowed slowly, watching how Mickey’s eyes followed the bob of his Adam's apple. He straightened back up and stared at Mickey expectantly. “If you win, I admit that you’re a better player than me. If I win, I get to play with your ass. However I want. How does that sound?” He put his palm on the top of his cue. 

Mickey pretended to consider it, as he stretched out over the table, closing one eye to line up his aim. When he made his shot, and sunk yet another ball, Mickey let out a whistle. “Again, I’m not seein’ the fuckin’ downside.” Mickey shrugged, picking up the blue cube of chalk on the edge of the table and twisting around the top of the cue. “All I can say is, it’s not lookin’ too good for you right now, so you better drop the act.” He was having so much more fun that he would ever admit. With Ian, the back and forth felt like foreplay, and Mickey was getting hot under the collar just thinking about where it would lead. 

Ian arched a challenging eyebrow. “Alright, fine. But, you asked for it.” He shrugged, “And, the bet is on.” He clarified as he bent over and sank two striped balls with one stroke of his cue. He smirked as he walked around the table and aimed again, sinking another ball easily. “Hmm… that means I get to keep going, right?” He questioned innocently as he adjusted himself to lean over the corner and sink another ball, tying their scores officially.

“You little shit!” Mickey exclaimed, but he was much more amused than annoyed. “I knew you were fuckin’ bluffing. Alright, game on motherfucker, you’ve really done it now.” Mickey motioned to the pool table with the beer in his hand, sloshing the contents in his excitement. “Go on. Line up your shot. Let’s see what you got.” 

“Suck on this, showoff.” Ian exclaimed as he sunk two more balls, swearing to himself as he missed the third. “Damn.” 

“Uh huh - yeah, looks like your luck’s run out, bitch.” Mickey scoffed and scoured the table with his eyes, counting how many balls he had left to pocket. “Get outta my way.” He swatted at Ian as he moved around the table to find the angle for his next shot.

Ian chuckled and moved without an argument, reveling in their little rivalry. He had won countless games of pool against Kevin and Lip at the Alibi, but it was much more exciting to play against Mickey, especially when the prize for winning was so worth the challenge . Ian held his hands up as he stepped back away from the table. Just as Mickey leaned over the table to take his shot, Ian cleared his throat. “I’d come over there and hump you if I wasn’t worried about hearing you complainin’ all day, sore loser.” 

Mickey’s frazzled mind was trying to process what Ian said, just as his hand pushed the cue forward, missing the ball completely. 

“Asshole!” Mickey roared, whirling around to face Ian. “That’s your technique huh? Distract me? Low fuckin’ blow man.” Mickey glanced back at the table, seeing that Ian had only one ball left - one that was perched conveniently close to the left corner pocket, at the perfect angle for it to sink in. There was no way Ian wasn’t going to win on his next turn. 

Mickey snatched his beer bottle from the ledge, draining the rest of it down his throat. Condensation from the neck of the bottle dripped onto the corner of his mouth and he had the bright idea to let it drip down his chin before flicking his tongue out to coyly catch the drop. Mickey gave a sideways look in Ian’s direction again, and caught Ian watching him intently, his breath hitching in his throat at the sight. “You gonna go, hotshot? Or are ya just gonna stare at me all day?” Two could play at this game. 

“Uh… you never said that was an option.” Ian mumbled and cleared his throat. He licked his lips as he looked away and ran a hand over his hair. Mickey was too hot for his own good and Ian felt like he was overheating as he walked around the table and angled himself to take his shot. As predicted, knocking the ball into the pocket was easy, despite that fact that he was thoroughly distracted. “Woo! And that’s how it’s done!” Ian laughed, scooping his beer bottle up and drinking the rest of it in celebration of his win.

It was unsurprising really, Mickey had seen it coming a mile away. Ian had smoked the ball into the pocket effortlessly and the pulse in Mickey’s veins began to quicken. He didn’t mind losing - not one bit. Wordlessly, he set his cue on the table and began digging the balls out of the pockets. 

“Whatcha thinkin’ about, hmm?” Ian decided to be a little shit about his win. “My impressive skills? I could give you lessons, you know.”

Mickey plucked the final ball out of the pocket and looked over his shoulder at the redhead, who looked so pleased with himself that it was difficult for Mickey to keep the smile from his lips. “I don’t remember bragging rights being part of the fuckin’ bet.”

“Okay, okay I’ll stop.” Ian practically glided over to Mickey, grabbing onto his hips and kissing the back of his neck again. “I’m just excited I won, ‘cause now I get you.” 

“Cheesy bitch,” Mickey rolled his eyes, but couldn’t resist leaning back onto Ian’s chest. 

Ian smiled when he felt Mickey’s weight shift onto him. “I thought you liked my cheesy jokes. You get hard when I tell the ones about fucking you.” He pushed his hands against the crotch of Mickey’s jeans, palming him for a moment before lifting his hand and squeezing it past the waistband of Mickey’s pants, cupping around his cock. 

With a grunt, Mickey planted his palms against the ledge of the pool table as the feeling of Ian’s hand making contact with his cock coursed through his body, from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. The pressure felt so instantly  _ good _ that Mickey had to shut his eyes for a moment to make his head stop spinning. “Oh come on, man. Not just the dumbass jokes that make me hard.” 

Ian hummed against Mickey’s neck as he began to mouth at the skin “Tell me what else does then…” He pressed his hips up against Mickey’s ass as he started sliding his palm up and down Mickey’s length. Eventually, Ian walked his fingers down to massage at Mickey’s balls, pressing another kiss to his neck. Ian snuck his tongue out against his warm skin, and had the sudden urge to suck and leave marks. He knew that giving the man a hickey in such a visible spot would have disastrous results. Still, Ian wondered if he could get away with marking Mickey’s skin  _ elsewhere _ . 

“Mmmph,” Mickey‘s cock was already plumping up in Ian’s hand, and the way the redhead worked his lips against Mickey’s neck felt like  _ heaven _ . “Why don’t you keep going and fuckin’ find out…” Mickey taunted, and he knew that Ian would be jumping to take him up on it. 

Ian dropped to his knees behind Mickey, pulling Mickey’s jeans down with him and salivating at the sight. “Bet you get hard when you prep yourself for me, don’t you?” He asked huskily, feeling his own dick start to strain against his pants. He leaned forward and kissed the perfect pale mound in front of his face, looking up at Mickey and waiting for an answer. 

The now familiar sensation of the heat in his body rising and his inhibitions lowering hit Mickey all at once as he felt his jeans drop around his knees. The feeling of Ian’s warm breath fanning over his exposed skin made Mickey curl his fingers tighter around the pool table ledge, his blunt fingernails biting into the wood. “F-fuck. Y-yeah.” He gasped once Ian’s mouth touched down on his ass cheek. It was at that very moment, Mickey knew for certain that he would say yes to anything that came out of Ian’s mouth, despite only having one beer. Mickey could only chalk up his feeling of inebriation to something other than alcohol.  _ Ian _ . 

Ian held Mickey’s hips to keep him in place as he kissed closer to his hole, waiting until just the right moment to use both hands and spread Mickey open. “Yeah you do, baby. I hope you used a flavored lube this time, ‘cause I’ve got  _ plans _ .” He leaned forward and licked Mickey’s hole slowly, flattening his tongue in a long sweep over the rim.

[ ](https://ibb.co/PzpgXs5)

“Oh,  _ fuck _ .” Mickey’s jaw dropped open wide and he sagged forward, putting the full weight of his upper body onto the table, and subconsciously lifting his hips up to meet Ian’s mouth. The last time he’d been eaten out was - well truthfully, it had been a long time. Before Ian, it had been months since Mickey had engaged in any sort of sex that was centered around him and his needs. It had always been about Clyde -  _ everything _ . If Mickey found some sort of pleasure in it, it was rarely ever intentional.

But this. This was Ian making it all about Mickey, making him feel good. And  _ holy fuck _ , was it working. 

“I got you, baby, relax…” Ian held the meat of Mickey’s ass in his right hand as he kept up the movement of his tongue against Mickey’s rim. He could feel Mickey pushing back against his lips and he loved it. He pushed Mickey’s hips down gently so that he’d relax from his position on his toes. The fact that he was making Mickey feel this good, was going right to Ian’s cock. He sucked two kisses onto Mickey’s hole and then brought a finger up to press against the bundle of nerves. 

Mickey couldn’t help but reach back and grab a fist full of Ian’s hair, which was easier said than done due to the length. He managed to get a solid grip, and once Ian’s finger joined his lips and tongue, Mickey allowed a low, strung out moan echo through the room, taking advantage of the sound-proofing.

Ian palmed himself in response to Mickey’s moan, pulling away from his ministrations to look down and unbutton his shorts. He rubbed his index finger over Mickey’s slick hole and brought the digit into his mouth, finally noticing the faint strawberry taste on his tongue, before he sucked more fingers into his mouth. Ian leaned back to watch his wet index finger easily slide into Mickey, right to the base. His mouth fell open and he panted as he watched his finger disappear into Mickey. He pulled it all the way back out and added the tip of another finger the next time, twisting them gently inside of Mickey. 

One finger entered him and then the other, and Mickey’s moans increased in volume substantially, as he lost control of himself. He had been slowly sinking down, his torso now parallel to the green felt of the table. “ _ Iannnn _ !” Mickey threw his head back and wailed. He hadn’t been expecting to feel anything other than Ian’s mouth but now that there were fingers involved, his cock was throbbing at twice the rate it had been and his bones felt like jelly with every pull and stretch of his tight hole.

“I…” Ian was panting too hard to speak, his voice thick with desire. “I was just gonna eat you out, but I couldn’t stop myself. Need to be inside of you one way or another.” Ian hissed, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Mickey’s other ass cheek this time. He pulled back and smacked it with his free hand. “Such a fucking perfect ass… attached to the second best pool player in the room, hmm?” He smirked as he smacked Mickey’s ass again. Watching it jiggle was hypnotic - and Ian was pulled under its spell - because the next thing he knew, he was sinking his teeth into the meat of Mickey’s ass cheek and listening to his lover let out a yelp from above.

Mickey’s body stiffened like a board and he could practically feel his cock leaking like a faucet as Ian’s teeth made indents in the pale flesh of his ass cheek. The sensation was one-third pain and two-thirds pleasure, and something so decidedly animalistic that it pushed Mickey’s hormone’s into overdrive. He pounded a fist on the table, and as he felt Ian relent, sucking around the marks that were no doubt forming on his skin before pulling away, all Mickey knew was that he wanted  _ more, more, more _ .

“Holy fuckin’ hell, do it  _ again _ !” Mickey demanded, choosing to ignore Ian’s dig about only being the second best pool player. It couldn’t have mattered less to him in the moment. He would have willingly lost the game to Ian a million times over as long as the redhead would agree to eat him and bite him and mark him up - over and over again.

Ian adored the neediness in Mickey’s voice. He felt dazed, but Mickey’s moans pulled him right back into his body, spreading warmth all throughout. Reaching through his unzipped shorts, Ian rubbed his hand against his own hard cock, right over his boxers. The mewls above him were driving Ian crazy, but Mickey’s needs were taking precedence at the moment so he stopped himself, in favor of teasing the tip of his third finger into Mickey’s hole while deciding on the perfect spot to bite. He moved an inch to the left, kissing the spot first and rubbing it with his thumb, to draw Mickey’s attention to it and build his excitement. He leaned in and bit Mickey’s ass again, this time pulling back faster and running his tongue softly over the marks left behind. “ _ Fuck _ , you get marked up so easily. I wanna leave more hickies on you…” Ian moaned and started to suck on the spot between the bite marks. 

Mickey could hardly believe how close he was to cumming - and how little Ian had to do to him to make it happen. Something about their sexual chemistry was so explosive, and as Ian inched the third finger into his hole, Mickey could feel everything coming to a head. His cock was aching to be touched, and he had a feeling Ian wouldn’t give it to him unless he asked for it. “God, yes!” Mickey crowed as Ian bit down into his flesh again, and the boost of adrenaline it gave him just what he needed to force the words out of his mouth. “Jerk my cock, please…  _ Christ _ , I’m so goddamn close!” Mickey pleaded, his eyes clamping shut as Ian’s fingers plunge deep enough inside of him that they rub against his prostate. 

“I’ll do you one better.” Ian moved back enough to turn Mickey around in front of him, twisting to keep three fingers deep inside of him and nipping at the skin right next to his pubes. “You’re gonna taste so good. I already know.” Ian moaned, and couldn’t stop himself from biting and sucking on Mickey’s skin, leaving behind ruby red hickies, trailing from his pelvis to his hips. Ian wrapped his hand around Mickey’s cock and stroked it a few times before wrapping his lips around Mickey’s tip, the taste of precum on his tongue was instant and gratifying. He closed his eyes and hummed, enjoying the sweetness on his tongue and lapping at it for more. It took him a moment to remember where he was and what he was doing, but when he finally did, Ian went back to rubbing small tight circles on Mickey’s prostate. 

Mickey wished he could last. He really did. But the inside of Ian’s mouth was so warm and silky as it enveloped his cock that he knew it would be all over soon. Ian’s fingers were still working in and out of him, rubbing against all the right spots. Mickey’s chin dropped to his chest as he reached both hands out in front of him, one wrapping around Ian’s left shoulder, the other cradling the back of his head as Ian efficiently took Mickey’s length deep into his mouth. 

Ian keened at the feel of Mickey’s hand in his hair again, letting his eyes fall shut as he sucked Mickey down, taking him farther into his throat. He took his hand off of Mickey’s cock and slid his lips right to the base, inhaling through his nose which was pressed against the wiry curls of Mickey’s pubes. He held his breath as he sat perfectly still, adjusting to the feel of Mickey’s cock on his tongue. He licked at the base as much as he could before pulling off and gulping down a breath of air. He used his spit to slick Mickey up, pumping his hand down Mickey’s shaft just once before going back down on him. Ian bobbed his head and took well over half of Mickey’s cock into his mouth with each movement. He knew he was getting sloppy, his lips and chin practically dripping with a mixture of Mickey’s pre-cum and his own saliva.

“Shit!  _ Ian _ !” Mickey tried to hold on to Ian’s head but it was moving too rapidly to get a good grip. It also didn’t help that his whole body was racked with tremors - he was seconds away from detonating like an atomic bomb and he wasn’t even ashamed at how quickly Ian brought him to such a vulnerable place. “ _ God _ ! Gonna cum! Gonna cum so fuckin’ hard!” Mickey let the words flow out of him like a waterfall. It was an announcement as much as a warning. Although he wanted nothing more than to let his load loose right down Ian’s throat, Mickey thought it polite to at least give him the opportunity to back off. In this heightened state, when he managed to lift one eyelid just a crack, Mickey saw Ian’s free arm moving frantically, down past where Mickey could see, and the visual of Ian touching himself was more than Mickey could bear to take. A jolt sped up his spine, and Mickey came, grunting and cursing, pressing Ian’s mouth down onto his cock until the redhead was audibly gagging. 

Ian’s hand had just barely wrapped around his cock over his boxers when Mickey came in his mouth. This event elicited such an out-of-body reaction that Ian actually had to remind himself to start swallowing for once. He was pushed forward by the hand on his head and found himself choking a bit, but Ian held up to the challenge - deepthroating Mickey like he’d done it a thousand times before. 

Unfortunately, Ian’s ultimate downfall was that his unintentional response to Mickey’s release was to tighten his grip around his own cock, resulting in more choking as an orgasm sparked through Ian’s body. His entire body shook and he let out a deep moan, trying to ride out the unbelievable sensation. Ian immediately moved his hand to Mickey’s hip to try and free himself enough to breathe, not even processing that he had  _ literally _ just creamed in his pants like a fucking horny teenager. He gasped for air as the final bit of Mickey’s cum hit his cheek - his messy mouth still connected to Mickey’s tip by a single string of saliva. Ian patted Mickey’s hip with a soft hand, the fingers of his other hand still firmly pressed inside of Mickey. 

Directing Mickey’s spent cock back towards his mouth, Ian accidentally bumped the tip against his cheek as he did so. He knew he probably looked like a fucking pornstar, and he was making the noises to match, as if Mickey really was the best flavor he’d ever tasted and he just couldn’t get enough. He refused to go more than a few moments without a full mouth. Mickey gasped loudly when Ian continued sucking on his cock, and he winced each time his pink tongue made a move along the length of his member, cleaning and sucking lazily. His legs felt weak and numb, and Mickey knew he should most likely let himself collapse on one of the couches, but he was fucking mesmerized by the sight of Ian fervently caring for him. 

Eventually, Mickey had to tap Ian’s shoulders and hope he understood it as a cue to pull back, so that both of them could breathe. However, Ian clearly wasn’t about to give up his new favorite role as Mickey’s  _ dick worshipper. _ Removing Mickey from his mouth, he opted for a gentler hold, cupping one side and pressing kisses to the sensitive member, as if Mickey was a king and Ian was nothing but his humble servant. Gradually, Ian moved outward to Mickey’s thighs, kissing them lovingly as he gently slid his fingers out of Mickey’s hole.

Bringing both hands up to his face, Mickey scrubbed them over his eyes and leaned all of his weight back against the pool table once more - content to just stare at Ian. Ian felt hot all over as Mickey looked down at him. He kept his hands on Mickey’s thighs for balance as he looked up at the brunette. He couldn’t do much of anything but stare back with a small smile on his lips. 

“D’you want me to-.” The words fizzled in Mickey’s mouth when he looked down to see that Ian was no longer hard. His shorts were unbuttoned and unzipped, pushed down low enough for the crotch of his boxers to be exposed. Mickey could see a large wet patch near Ian’s tip, and nearly choked on a bubble of laughter that rose from deep inside. “Oh my god, did you-?” Mickey couldn’t finish the sentence. He was so satisfied and exhausted all at once, all he could do was laugh. 

Ian followed Mickey’s gaze downward and let out a soft whine when Mickey began to laugh at him. He took his hands off of Mickey and squinted up at him. “Don’t laugh at me.” He mumbled and then sat back on his ass to kick his pants off the rest of the way. He left them on the floor as he made a move to try to stand up on legs that felt like jelly, completely numb from being on the floor for so long. Ian reached up for the edge of the pool table next to Mickey’s hip and used his upper body strength to slowly pull himself up. 

Once Mickey felt like he wasn’t going to topple over if he moved, he bent slightly and grabbed his jeans and boxers, pulling them up and fastening them. “How the fuck am I not supposed to laugh, man?” Mickey took one look at Ian’s face and could see the heat rising, redness coloring the tips of his ears and making his freckles pop. He decided to take pity. “Alright, alright, lemme go get you some clean shit. You can borrow somethin’. Might be a little tight on you but…” Mickey shrugged. 

“Thanks.” Ian rubbed at his face lightly and then hid behind his hand, cracking one eye open to see Mickey between his fingers, feeling embarrassed more than anything. “I’m gonna have to wash these because - I don’t know if you noticed - but, I fucking  _ came in my boxers _ .” He finally admitted it out loud, starting to slip them off. “Is there somewhere I can …?” He noticed Mickey staring at him as he straightened up, since he was now only wearing his button down and shirt, and nothing below the waist.

“Yeah, bathroom’s just down the hall. The one where we showered last time, remember?” Mickey smoothed down his rumpled hair, trying not to look at Ian straight on, lest he get too distracted to remember what he was meant to be doing. He circled the pool table and headed towards the door, glancing back to see Ian following behind him after gathering up his shorts. “Speaking of showers, you can take one if you want or whatever. I’ll be back down in a few minutes and then I’m eating the fuck outta that burrito.” Mickey grinned over his shoulder, attempting to put Ian at ease.

“Alright, just hurry back.” Ian wasn’t used to shit being done for him, so he felt a bit out of sorts. But, Mickey was being so accommodating that it made him feel special - like he was really being taken care of. When Mickey was about to step through the door, Ian placed a hand on Mickey’s shoulder and tilted him closer to kiss his cheek. “Thanks again.” He whispered.

*

Ian stepped into the cool bathroom and looked at his flushed face in the mirror, seeing his previously styled hair was significantly mused from Mickey grabbing at it. He’d never really had a problem pulling off the rumpled, lackadaisical look, so he didn’t bother to pat it down at all. He made quick work of running his boxers under the tap, mostly getting rid of the stain he’d left behind, and ringing them out as much as possible. Ian pulled off his shirt and hung it on a towel rack, along with his boxers and shorts, which had thankfully not been impacted by his self-inflicted  _ accident _ . After stepping into the fancy marble shower and turning on the warm stream of water, he cleaned up the mess he’d made, careful to not get his hair wet. He had a feeling Mickey was into it, by the way he had been tugging at it.

Ian was out of the shower within minutes and dried off with the closest towel, before wrapping it around his waist and carrying his clothes back to the room. He snuck through the basement like it was booby trapped as he ran back to the rec room. Shutting the door behind him, Ian grabbed his baggie of joints and his lighter on the way to the sofa. He dropped his towel onto the floor and sat down on Mickey’s couch, not bothering to put clothes on while he waited for Mickey to bring him back a clean pair of boxers, focusing instead on getting high and feeling more like himself again. 

*

Mickey managed to avoid Alice as he snuck upstairs, grabbed the first pair of clean boxers he saw from his chest of drawers and hurried back down to the rec room. As soon as he made it to the rec room, Mickey closed and locked the door behind him before turning around and nearly losing his shit, throwing a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter. Ian was sitting on the couch - the couch Mickey had been sleeping on for nearly a week - naked as a fucking jay bird, legs spread out onto the coffee table and a lit joint in his hand. 

“Make yourself at home, I guess,” Mickey chortled, stopping half way between the door and Ian. With one finger in the band of the clean boxers he had brought, Mickey used his other hand to pull the fabric back taut, take aim and fling them straight at Ian’s face. They landed and hung for a second before falling on to Ian’s lap, making Mickey laugh even harder. 

Ian blew a breath from the corner of his mouth while he snatched the garment from his lap and stood to pull the red boxers on. They were a size too small but it wasn’t uncomfortable, so he adjusted himself as he took another pull from the joint hanging past his lips. “You know what I was thinking about as I was sitting here, butt-ass naked on your leather couch? I think we’re proper fuck-buddies now… ‘cause I feel completely comfortable being naked in front of you.” Ian pulled just the t-shirt over his head and stepped up to Mickey, pulling him in towards his body and holding him gently around the waist. Ian was feeling much more like himself - the weed was already starting to work it’s magic - leaving Mickey to be the one to catch up.

Mickey pinched the joint from between Ian’s fingers and took a deep drag, holding the smoke in his lungs before letting what remained out in a dense cloud. Embarrassingly, he coughed a bit as the final wisps of smoke escaped him - despite being an avid smoker, it had been years since Mickey had smoked a joint. He covered up his shame by taking a few more hits. By his third pull, Mickey was already feeling a bit fuzzy around the edges.

“Fuck-buddies, huh?” Mickey hummed, swiveling around and guiding Ian back towards the couch. They collapsed side by side, sinking into the soft leather. “That’s not what you said the other day…” Mickey’s eyes grew wide once he realized what the fuck he had said. He turned to look at Ian, and found that Ian was looking right back - equally as stunned. 

“Well… uh…” Ian distracted himself by stealing the joint back and taking a considerable amount of smoke into his lungs. He pictured himself inhaling his worry and exhaling cool and collected energy. “You’re right. I said  _ boyfriend _ .” He made unwavering eye contact with Mickey as he spoke, and wrapped his arm around the back of the sofa where Mickey sat, trying to exude the confidence he was attempting to recreate. They said they’d talk about labels in person, and so Ian decided to take Mickey up on it. 

Realistically, Ian knew it was too soon, but he also knew he needed to protect himself - to protect his  _ heart _ . If Mickey wasn’t as serious as Ian thought he was, then Ian needed to learn to live with it, before it sent him into a spiral. 

“Trust me. I remember.” Mickey responded, taking one final inhale of the joint before pinching the filter between his thumb and forefinger and passing it towards Ian’s free hand. The subject had seemed so intense when Ian had first dropped it on him over the phone, but now… Mickey didn’t know if it was the instant high overtaking his brain that made things seem less terrifying, but he thought maybe he could handle it. “It’s not that I don’t…  _ feel _ that way, man. I just… you kinda sprung it on me outta nowhere and I-,” Mickey paused and he didn’t know for how long, but his mind was onto the next thought before he could catch it, “Need some fuckin’ music for this. Too quiet.” Mickey went for his phone, fumbling it out of his pocket with rubbery fingers. 

Ian sat and watched Mickey as he smoked, reclining casually. He decided he was going to let Mickey take the lead here and say whatever it is he wanted to say. He put his feet back up and blew smoke up towards the ceiling, dropping his head back onto the couch. It felt like he should be nervous, but the more hits he took from the joint, the calmer he felt. Without picking up his head, he lazily passed the last of the roach to Mickey as the first beat of the music sounded through the speakers. 

Mickey had put on some sort of generic classic rock station over the surround sound, mainly because he felt like he’d been staring blankly at the phone for what felt like eons. He absently accepted the roach, nearly grabbing the wrong end with his fingers. Once he got the hang of it, Mickey brought it to his lips and finished it off, right to the filter. The seemingly bright idea hit him, as he reached over and stabbed the butt out in the ashtray on the side table. 

Holding the smoke in his lungs, Mickey leaned his head back on the headrest, and waited for Ian’s head to roll to the side and face him, until they were almost nose to nose. It was supposed to be a shotgun - sexy and smooth, but Mickey didn’t anticipate that his high ass would fuck it up so royally. At the last moment, Mickey couldn’t hold back a fucking  _ giggle _ , and the contents of his lungs exited in a puff in Ian’s face, which only led him to another mortifying fit of laughter. Despite the subject matter of the conversation, Mickey just couldn’t keep a straight face after something so fucking goofy. 

Ian couldn’t keep a straight face either, laughing as he waved the smoke away from in front of his face. His eyes practically  _ sparkled _ as he watched Mickey - the guy he was clearly falling for - laugh and laugh, the sound more pleasing than the actual music playing. He smiled as Mickey began to settle down and then closed the gap between them, pressing his lips to the corner of Mickey’s mouth. “You’re a dork, you know that? And, I gotta tell you… you’re losing some street cred here, kid.” His voice was much softer than he intended it to be as he stayed within inches of Mickey’s lips, unwilling to pull away. 

Mickey leaned in again and kissed Ian, moving his lips slowly but earnestly, not too fast, not too slow. In the back of his mind, he knew there were things that needed to be talked about, things that needed to be dealt with out in the open. But the combination of having such an addled mind and kissing Ian felt like nothing he’d ever experienced before, and it was hard to pull away. When he finally forced himself to, he was met with those green eyes, like forests, like emeralds, like all the other green things he hadn’t gotten around to listing.

_ I think I might fucking love you _ . Mickey thought it again, and maybe it really was the weed or maybe it was just  _ Ian _ , but the thought came much easier this time and wasn’t as easy to push away. 

“Shit… what were we talking about?” Mickey muttered against Ian’s lips. 

Ian’s tongue slid out and ran along his bottom lip as he turned his entire body to face Mickey’s, keeping his face close and putting a hand on Mickey’s thigh comfortably. The soft kiss was a beautiful distraction and it was making Ian feel all sorts of things, but he wanted to hear Mickey out, so Ian prompted him by saying, “You being my boyfriend. I didn’t forget what I said either.”

“Right,” Mickey inclined forward and kissed Ian once more, just because he was there - just because he could. He’d never thought he was so starved for affection, but right now his body had a mind of it’s own and all that was on the agenda was  _ Ian, Ian, Ian.  _ “I guess it just freaked me out a little because… I’m tryna figure out how the fuck I’m supposed to have a  _ boyfriend _ when I already got a  _ husband _ .” Mickey laughed at himself again. When he was sober it was a source of great frustration, but as the high slowly seeped deeper and deeper into his skin, he could really see the comedy in it all. “Jesus, why am I such a goddamn  _ disaster _ .” Normally he’d keep such a self-deprecating thought close to his chest, but his lips were so loose he couldn’t stop the words from spilling out. 

“You’re not a fuckin’ _disaster_ , Mickey.” Ian assured him, reaching for one of his hands and idly playing with it as he spoke. He looked back up into Mickey’s eyes, giving Mickey’s hand a gentle squeeze as he spoke with a sure tone. “Your marriage is a disaster, but not _you._ _You’re_ not your marriage. And, it’s not your fault either - that it is the way it is. You’ve been doing what you can to get by for years now - I get that.” It felt weird saying such things in the basement of the home Mickey shared with said husband, but Ian was high enough to push that thought away and focus solely on Mickey. “You’re not _supposed_ to have anything, or do anything, or _be_ anything. If you want me to be your boyfriend… if you want us to see where this goes… just know I want it too. You just gotta decide if it’s the best thing for where you’re at right now.” He pressed a soft kiss to Mickey’s knuckle, realizing it was the bruised knuckle as he pulled it away from his face. He gently ran his thumb over it, hoping it didn’t hurt anymore. 

Mickey realized he was holding his breath when Ian finally finished, and it took him a minute to figure out how to coordinate his lungs and lips in order to finally exhale. All he could manage to do was stare at Ian, mapping his eyes and nose and lips - and all the freckles between them. The moment was fucking  _ soft _ again. Too fucking  _ soft _ . He didn’t know how Ian had gone from being so judgemental of his life upon their first meeting, to being the most sympathetic person in his life. He watched Ian’s lips make contact with his fingers, and Mickey’s insides twisted and  _ twisted _ . It was the good kind of jumble, he thought, like that nest of butterflies had been stirred up.

“You’re so… how are you so fuckin’…” Mickey murmured, and his brain wouldn’t supply the words, so he shook his head and carried on. “I guess you’re my fuckin’ boyfriend then.” It was the only full sentence he could get out. 

“Sounds good,  _ boyfriend _ .” Ian felt the soft smile play on his lips as he held Mickey’s cheek in his palm and leaned in to place a soft kiss on his lips, taking control of this kiss to show Mickey just how happy he felt. The warmth buzzing all around his chest spread throughout his body and he reached out to hold Mickey with both hands, pulling him close, hoping he could feel it too. 

*

Ian and Mickey played a few rounds of Apex once they were done sucking face on the couch like a couple of teenagers. Ian had never played it before, but he picked up on the mechanics pretty quickly, and it helped that they were on the same team.

There was a new lightness between them now, a type of clarity that settled over the men like a comforting blanket, and despite playing co-op, they still managed to mess with one another. Mickey regularly knocked his knee into Ian’s thigh and Ian elbowed him right back, laughing and fighting like kids.

Ian heard Mickey's stomach grumble and then saw the container that he brought still sitting on the bartop. “Did you eat breakfast? ‘Cause I brought the burrito, if you’re hungry…” He trailed off, not trying to look too eager. He’d sobered up a bit while they were playing and he wanted to get his high back. Sharing a joint had been fun, but he wasn’t nearly as high as Mickey - and fuck, he wanted to be. 

Their session against the pool table earlier had nearly set him on fire, but Ian had barely any recollection from the almost-spiritual dick sucking experience he’d been through. All he knew was that he had done a fucking good job, and there had been biting and sucking and hickies involved. He wondered what messing around when they were both high off their asses would feel like. Probably even better than before, although he couldn’t even picture such a scenario at the moment. 

He stood to get the baggie from where he’d left it on the other end of the sofa and went out of his way to get the container of food for Mickey. He brought it over and plopped it on Mickey’s lap as he sat right next to Mickey and lit up again. “This one…” He spoke with the smoke still in his lungs. “Is all mine.” He held up the freshly lit joint. “I get to be selfish now that we’re officially  _ boyfriends _ .” Ian joked playfully. “You get another after you eat. And maybe I’ll let you try to shotgun again, fuckin’ amateur.” He smacked the back of his hand against Mickey’s thigh with a laugh. 

“Fuck you man,” Mickey chuckled, throwing his controller to the side and setting aside the burrito too. He stood slowly and got his bearings before snatching the joint out of Ian’s hands and taking a quick puff, handing it back just as quickly he had taken it. “And you forgot the most important part.” Mickey stumbled his way over to the mini fridge and pulled out a bottle of frosty Old Style. “You want another beer over there,  _ Cheech _ ?” Mickey asked. 

“Uhhhh…” Ian trailed off as he subtly checked the time. A few hours had passed so he was good to have another, although he really shouldn’t be mixing his vices. “Yeah, I’ll take one.” He nodded at Mickey. 

Taking another puff, Ian told himself to relax. He wouldn’t need to worry about getting home for a few hours so he was in the clear for now. He would definitely want to sober up before he attempted to get back across town, since he wasn’t too keen on coming across as a mirror image of his burnout father - a young-looking Frank Gallagher. But in order to get sober, he had to get fucking high first. He shook off his thoughts by the time Mickey had ventured back over to the couch. Accepting the opened beer from Mickey, and he couldn’t help but to tug on the belt loop of Mickey’s jeans with his other hand. “You have too many layers on right now. Something has to go.” He wiggled his eyebrows as he took another drag. 

“Is that right?” Mickey sucked his teeth and stared down at the man, setting his beer down on the coffee table. “Why’s that, hm?” His voice was hoarse from inhaling so much smoke, but Mickey could see that his tone was  _ doing _ things to Ian. 

Ian’s blush started to reappear as he set down his beer on the table, but he didn’t back down from this challenge. He held onto Mickey’s hip and used it as an anchor to pull himself up to his full height, pressing right up against Mickey so that he had to look up at Ian. He cleared his throat so he could find his voice and not embarrass himself again. “‘Cause I want to see more skin.” He ran his hand down from Mickey’s hip and started feeling up his thighs, moving his hand around to Mickey’s ass - when Mickey’s stomach growled louder than before. Ian couldn’t help himself from bursting out laughing at the way Mickey’s hunger had single handedly destroyed the mounting sexual tension. 

“Goddammit,” Mickey glanced down at his stomach like it was the ultimate traitor. “Shut the fuck up down there. We’re busy.” Mickey took the opportunity to steal the joint from Ian again, waving off Ian’s attempts to snatch it back as he took another drag. Plopping down on the couch, Mickey felt the world spinning beneath him and the hunger like a living thing inside of him. “This burrito’s gonna hit the fuckin’ spot man.” He mumbled happily, taking a sip of his beer to ward off the intense cotton mouth he was experiencing.

“Take this joint from me again and see what happens…” Ian grumbled sitting close to him but tilting his upper body away, so Mickey wasn’t within arms length to steal it away from him. He was chasing this high before he’d be chasing the one right in front of him. 

“When’re you gonna get it through your thick skull, Gallagher?” Mickey opened the container and took hold of the burrito, shoving one end into his mouth and taking a huge bite. “I ain’t scared of your freckly little ass.” His words were garbled through a mouthful of burrito, but he didn’t care. “Holy fuck, this is good.” Mickey hummed, staring down at the food. 

“Yeah?” Ian couldn’t help himself from perking up and sitting up straight on the sofa, searching for praise like a puppy. “Glad you like it. I don’t cook often, but I got a good handle on breakfast shit. Even made muffins a few weeks ago for the first time.” He couldn’t help but add excitedly, before registering the previous insult. “And, don’t talk shit about my ass. You’ll regret saying that when I bend you over the back of this couch and give you a couple more marks.” 

“This is the shit I get for agreeing to be your little boyfriend?” Mickey teased. “What if I take it back huh? What then?” It was really fucking fun to mess with him, getting Ian riled up and watching him go. 

Ian’s eyebrows raised as he sat back with his joint. “Can’t take it back.” He hummed casually, “There’s a whole no-take-backs thing. Should’ve known that before you agreed, ‘cause it’s too late now.” He stretched out on the couch as he spoke, laying on his back with his feet pointed towards Mickey, pressing his toes into Mickey’s hip just to bother him. He took a drag and blew out the smoke above him, staring at the ceiling and then readjusting himself in the tight red boxers Mickey had brought him. 

“You’re such an ass,” Mickey shook his head and rolled his eyes. “I was gonna be a nice guy and offer you a bite of this, but now there’s no fuckin’ way.” 

Ian laughed softly, coughing a little and picking up his head to look down at Mickey. “My hands are busy, I’ll take some if you feed it to me.” He said in a seductive voice, leaning up on his elbows. 

Mickey glanced between Ian and the burrito several times, before leaning over Ian’s body and shoving the last half of it right in Ian’s mouth. It was much less coordinated than he wanted it to be, and Ian seemed to react in surprise, which only made the whole situation funnier to Mickey. 

Ian laughed at the way Mickey had contemplated the choice, as if he was deciding what he liked more - Ian or the burrito. Ultimately, Ian was glad that he won out, and once he had a mouthful of food, he started chewing and caught the rest of it in his hands. He kicked Mickey’s hip hard and debated throwing the contents of his hand at Mickey and starting a food fight. “Dick.” He mumbled around his mouthful of food. 

Mickey finished off his half of the burrito with a swig of his beer and let out a contented belch. He was getting to the point of the high where he felt like his eyelids were made out of concrete and Ian’s kick made his head spin for longer than it should have. He felt full and sluggish, but warm and giddy at the same time. Each blink and swallow felt slow and purposeful. He glanced over at Ian with his eyes half open and a stupid grin on his face. 

Ian sat up as he finished eating the burrito that had fallen into his hand. He swallowed it and then picked up a napkin from the table to wipe off his hand, before looking over at Mickey noticing the sleepy stoned expression he knew all too well. 

“Jesus, you’re fuckin’  _ gone. _ ” Ian whispered with a small laugh before he finally put two and two together. Mickey must not have smoked weed in a while if all the coughing indicated anything, and now his dazed look explained everything. Ian moved closer to him and laughed as he looked into Mickey’s reddening eyes. “Don’t be embarrassed about being a lightweight, man. It’s okay, I’m that way with booze.” He leaned over towards Mickey and held his face in his hands, starting to feel the way he’d wanted to. A little heavy and slow -he leaned into Mickey and kissed him with more passion than he himself had expected. 

Mickey breathed sharply through his nose the moment Ian’s lips made contact with his, before slowly pulling himself towards the man, fisting Ian’s shirt in both hands. Kissing Ian was normally an intense experience, but Mickey’s current lack of sobriety only made things even more indescribable. Mickey opened himself up without hesitation, flicking out his tongue in search of Ian’s. Everything felt just right and the word  _ boyfriend _ echoed through Mickey’s mind on repeat. 

Ian kissed Mickey with everything he had in him and it felt like he was floating. There was something about the knowledge that Mickey had agreed to be his boyfriend that was making these little moments of affection so much sweeter. Ian curled himself around Mickey’s body, tucking them both into the sofa and feeling the leather mold perfectly around their bodies.  _ My boyfriend _ , Ian thought to himself with a smile, accidentally knocking his teeth into Mickey’s in a moment of clumsiness.

Mickey couldn’t stop himself from laughing against Ian’s mouth, slowly bringing his hand up to touch Ian’s face, just to feel him and make sure he was still real. He was  _ there _ \- warm and solid and  _ real _ . 

“You’re sooo high.” Ian giggled, pushing away from Mickey with a hand on his chest. He felt Mickey chase after his lips, pressing against Ian as much as he could, leaning against him, as if he couldn’t sit up straight on his own. “You fallin’ asleep on me?” He asked, holding Mickey’s shoulders in hands again and tilting him back to look into his eyes. With the first hint of a nod from Mickey, Ian sat back against the plush sofa and pulled Mickey on top of him until his head was cradled in Ian’s lap. Mickey’s cheek landed against Ian’s warm thigh, just below the hem of his borrowed boxers. “We don’t have to do anything. You can just lay here, if you want.” Ian helped push Mickey’s legs up onto the sofa so he could stretch out and pulled the throw blanket down on top of Mickey, tucking him in as best as he could.

[ ](https://ibb.co/JCrKdGn)

Glancing back down, he saw Mickey’s delirious smile and he found himself beaming down at the man. He saw Mickey’s gaze drop down to his crotch and then move back to his eyes a few times and he wondered what Mickey was thinking about. He didn’t have to wait longer than a minute to know, letting out a shocked gasp as Mickey’s hand came up and wrapped around Ian’s length that was right in front of his face. Before Ian could even say anything, Mickey’s eyes were closed and heavy breathing set in. 

Ian laughed quietly and shook his head. “Sleepy baby...” He mumbled to himself as he weaved his fingers through Mickey’s hair, playing with it, soothing them both until Ian himself drifted off to sleep.

*

When Mickey stirred awake, he wasn’t sure what time it was, or even what fucking day it was, all he knew was that it was the first time he felt genuinely rested in ages. His mind was much more clear than it had been when he’d fallen asleep, and he was instantly struck by how overwhelmingly warm he was - nestled under a blanket, with his face pressed against Ian’s thighs. In one swift movement, Mickey flipped the blanket off of him and onto the floor, and reached up to carefully remove Ian’s hand from where it was intertwined in his hair. He heard soft snoring above him, and when he propped himself up, Mickey was greeted by the sight of Ian fast asleep, head lolled back on the headrest. 

Mickey gave himself a minute to just look at the man, marvelling at how attractive he was even when his mouth was hanging wide open in slumber. Mickey only had a slight recollection of what had happened before they had both passed out, and he was a bit embarrassed honestly, at how the weed had proven to completely incapacitate him. 

Reaching for his phone on the coffee table, Mickey felt a wave of anxiety take over him. It was nearing dinner time, and Mickey had no idea how late Clyde would be out. 

_ Clyde _ . 

He hadn’t even thought about his husband in hours - and what a fucking blissful few hours it had been. Mickey remembered all at once that he had made a commitment to Ian. 

_ Boyfriend _ . 

Right now his  _ boyfriend  _ realistically needed to go - just to make sure he wouldn’t run into his  _ husband _ on the way out. Mickey felt a headache coming on. 

Ian’s hand flexed on his lap and then reached out to try to grab a hold of Mickey again, not realizing he had gotten up. The sudden lack of familiar warmth woke him up gradually, and Ian opened his eyes, rubbing them as he looked left and right. Ian wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he finally laid eyes on Mickey.

“Why’d you get up?” Ian’s voice was hoarse, his mouth dry. 

“S’gettin’ late,” Mickey hummed, letting his head fall to rest in the center of Ian’s chest, feeling the man’s heartbeat against his forehead. He hoped he wouldn’t have to say anything else. Normally, Mickey relished the moment he got to tell guests to get the fuck out of his house - this time, not so much. He briefly entertained an otherworldly fantasy of Ian moving into the rec room and never leaving, but he had to shake it out of his mind instantly, because not only was it implausible, but it might have been a bit fucking creepy too. Either way he didn’t want Ian to go, but he knew there was no choice. 

Ian ruffled the hair on the back of Mickey’s head gently as he let out a yawn, “Damn... I should probably get going then.” He dropped a kiss on the top of Mickey’s head but made no actual move to get up. It hit him that he would probably have another week of  _ no Mickey _ ahead of him, so he decided to enjoy the moment while he could. Ian assumed he could be snuck in again sometime soon, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask Mickey exactly how soon it would be. “This was really fun, Mick. I- thanks… for inviting me.” He was still so sleepy, unable to filter his mushy feelings before they spilled out of him. To save himself the humiliation of saying something overly cheesy, he settled on thanking his lover for risking everything.

“Thanks for coming.” Mickey lifted his head, feeling a strange mixture of things when he looked up into Ian’s face. “Now we just gotta figure out how the fuck to get you outta here without tipping off Alice.” Reluctantly, Mickey pulled himself up off of the couch and offered Ian a hand, yanking him up behind him. Still trying to gain control over his underused limbs, Mickey accidentally backed up into the coffee table, nearly taking his knees out, and he threw his arms around Ian’s shoulders in order to stop himself from toppling over. 

Ian’s arms immediately wrapped around Mickey’s waist, pulling him in close to steady him. “Woah, you good there?” He looked down into Mickey’s eyes and couldn’t help but glance at his plump lips too. They looked more pink than usual, having been kissed and bitten. “Don’t need you trippin’ over stuff and getting any more bruises. I like you as pale as you were the day I met you.” He joked softly. 

“Fuck off,” Mickey muttered affectionately, pushing him away playfully. “You’re one to talk about pale, with your vampire lookin’ mug.” He remembered the marks Ian had left all over his lower half. Maybe the redhead really was a fucking vampire.

Ian grinned as he gathered up his shorts and began to pull them back on, pausing when he looked down at his still damp pair of boxers draped over the arm of the couch. “Ah shit, do you want your boxers back?” He blurted, not having thought through the question fully. 

Mickey shook his head. “Nah man, keep ‘em for now. Can’t have you goin’ commando on public transport.”

Ian gave him a silent smirk as he fastened his shorts, rolling up his own boxers into a tight wad shoving them in his back pocket. 

Once Ian had fully dressed and collected his few belongings, the men made their way through the rec room to door slowly, teasing and poking at one another, trying to cling onto the last bit of fun that there was left in the day. Ian gazed longingly at the row of arcade machines as they passed and commented that he hadn't gotten to challenge Mickey’s score like he’d wanted to.

“Next time,” Mickey assured him, and that answer had Ian’s heart  _ singing _ .

When they reached the door, Mickey unlocked it and pulled it open, turning to instruct Ian on their next move. “I’ll go up and see where Alice is at. Think your fidgety ass can wait at the bottom of the steps until I give you the all clear signal?” 

“No, I obviously have to hold your hand or I’ll get lost.” Ian replied, sarcasm heavily lacing his voice as he flipped Mickey off once more. 

“Alright okay, let’s fuckin’ go,” Mickey scoffed and waved Ian though the door, closing it behind them. 

At the bottom of the basement steps, Mickey glanced up through the doorway for a moment before pushing Ian up against the nearest wall and mounting an assault on his mouth. Threading one hand through Ian’s hair and squeezing the other around his waist, Mickey kissed him feverishly, riding out the last of the high that Ian had given him. 

Ian couldn’t stop the moan from falling past his lips into Mickey’s mouth. He grabbed at Mickey’s ass, picking him up by the back of his thighs to get as much physical contact as he could, and then walked forward blindly to the opposite wall, bracing Mickey’s back against it so he could concentrate on Mickey’s lips. He squeezed Mickey’s ass through his jeans and sucked on Mickey’s plump lower lip to keep himself from moaning once more. 

Mickey enjoyed the embrace for a few more fleeting seconds before pushing him away. “Gettin’ carried away there, Red.” He panted, giving Ian one last peck before starting up the stairs. It was so fucking hard, but Mickey knew they had already pushed their luck far enough. 

“Don’t wanna go.” Ian mumbled to himself and put his hands in his pockets, dragging his feet a little as he made his way halfway up the steps, staying hidden from view. 

Mickey took one last look behind him at Ian, before jogging up the rest of the steps and disappearing around the corner. Stealthily, he snuck towards the kitchen, knowing that it was mostly likely where Alice would be at that time of day. Just as he suspected, he poked his head around the corner to find her washing vegetables in the sink, setting up to prepare for dinner. He watched her for only a moment, and once he was sure that Alice was staying put for the time being, he turned tail and ran through the house to head back to retrieve Ian. 

“Yo!” Mickey hissed down the stairs. “Coast is clear!”

Ian hopped carefully up the steps and followed behind Mickey as they both hastily traversed the distance between the basement steps and the foyer. They reached the front door without incident, yet Ian still found himself breathless, as if the very thought of departing from Mickey’s side was thinning the air in his lungs.

Mickey glanced furtively around, and opened the front door, allowing Ian to slip out onto the front steps.

“I’ll miss you.” Ian whispered and then nearly rolled his eyes at himself. “Fuck, that sounded way too dramatic. Just... text me, okay?” He smiled shyly and moved to jump off the stoop, figuring that if he tried to linger any longer - or went in for another kiss - Mickey would chastise him for putting them both in more danger. 

“‘Ey!” Ian was surprised to feel Mickey’s fingers close around his wrist, and when he turned back, the man was nearly out of the doorway himself - closer than before. “I’ll miss you too, jackass.” Mickey murmured in Ian’s ear, and the words held a sort of undeniable honesty to them. 

Of course, after hearing them, Ian couldn’t just walk away without one last kiss, and Mickey certainly didn’t plan on letting him.

*

Alice gathered up the pile of potato and carrot peelings she had accumulated, sliding them from the kitchen counter down into the waiting trash can. The bag was getting full, likely because whichever maid had been working the night before hadn’t had enough foresight to change it. She tied off the bag and set it aside, replacing it with a fresh one. 

_ Might as well take this out to the trash while I’m at it _ , Alice thought, as she picked up the bag and began walking it out to the trash cans on the driveway. She stepped out of the front door into the still humid evening air, happy to feel that the temperature had dropped considerably since the morning and the outdoors no longer felt like a sauna. Just as she was depositing the bag into the trash can and closing the lid, she heard what sounded like the front door opening, and a few hushed whispers in the distance. 

Turning towards the sound, Alice expected to see Dr. Miller returning home - which struck her as odd considering no car had pulled up to the house - or even Mickey coming outside for a smoke. Instead, when a figure stepped out under the porch lights, Alice was momentarily confused to see a shock of red hair enter her line of sight. She recognized him instantly, even from a distance - it was the pool boy she had seen at the house weeks ago. The one Mickey had been silently pretending not to ogle. 

Instinctively, Alice stepped back even further into the shadow of the garage, as a few important factors clicked into place in her mind. She watched in shock, as the tall handsome redhead turned and spoke - whispering something into the doorway. Just then, a smaller figure -  _ Mickey - _ stepped forward, just past the threshold. Alice’s jaw nearly dropped as she watched the redhead swoop in with an arm around her employer's waist, kissing him briefly but intensely, before they broke away from one another.

Alice held her breath, praying silently that she wouldn’t be spotted. Thankfully, the pool boy seemed to be in a world of his own, glancing back at Mickey just once more before hurrying down the driveway and fading into the darkness in between street lamps. Alice waited until she was sure the front door had been shut before stepping out from her unintentional hiding spot. She took a moment to calm herself, pressing a hand over her racing heart and taking a few deep breaths. 

Under no pretenses about what she had just witnessed, Alice now felt like she finally understood. In hindsight, it was obvious, although she knew she would not have guessed the exact circumstances in a million years. Mickey had been acting strangely for the past few weeks, peaking her mother’s intuition - and now it was clear as day what he had been hiding. The  _ pool boy _ .

Alice realized then that Mickey had snuck the man in, right under her nose. Not that it was really any of her business. She understood perfectly well why Mickey wouldn’t want to flaunt to any of the staff that he was in the midst of an  _ affair  _ \- if Clyde caught wind, there would be hell to pay. 

Still, Alice - much like the rest of the staff - didn’t much like Dr. Miller. He was a vain, short tempered employer, who often treated them like the dirt beneath his feet. And from what Alice had observed, the pretentious man didn’t treat his young husband much better. It all fell into place for her now - the way Mickey had been glued to his phone, smiling and laughing, the fact that he had been spending an even greater amount of time in his rec room. Last Sunday Alice had noticed the lock on the door, shiny and new, when she’d gone down to clean the nearby bathroom. 

It was a lot to process, but Alice knew she had to go back inside and continue with dinner as if she hadn’t seen anything at all. Mickey was a grown man, although she so often felt the need to protect him. He was capable of making his own decisions and mistakes, and letting him know what she had seen would serve no purpose other than to embarrass him. 

Alice took a deep breath and headed back towards the front door - now with much more on her mind than what she was preparing for supper. 

*

Immediately after Mickey let the double doors close, he found the nearest wall, just beside them, and pressed his back up against it. He leaned his head back and gave himself time to breathe. It had been an insane day, and the rush he’d gotten from successfully sneaking Ian - his  _ boyfriend - _ in and out of the house without detection was perversely enjoyable for him. 

He nearly jumped a foot in the air when the front door cracked open a moment later. As Alice entered, he relaxed slightly. Initially, he had thought it was Clyde coming home - an event he was nowhere near ready for. Naturally, seeing that it was Alice and not his husband had been a pleasant surprise, until he realized the implications. 

Alice had been  _ outside _ . Ian had somehow passed right by her. Had she seen? Mickey’s mind was going wild. He froze in his tracks as Alice’s eyes landed on him. 

“Mickey!” Alice jumped a bit and put her hand over her chest, trying to calm her heart. “Oh, you keep scaring me!” She tried to play it off. She wasn’t the one that had just gotten caught, so why was her heart racing like it was?  _ I’m too old for secrets _ , she thought to herself as she turned back to close and lock the door. 

“Shit, my bad.” Mickey apologized, running a shaky hand through his hair and trying to appear as normal as possible despite the circumstances. He probably looked suspicious as all hell, but if Alice knew anything, she didn’t seem to show it. 

“No, no it’s fine. Are you expecting someone?” She motioned to the door, providing him an excuse as to why he would be standing by the door, looking so out of place. 

“Uh…” Mickey’s brain had ceased to function and so it took him a while to come up with what he actually wanted to say. “Nah I was just gonna… go for a smoke but uh… I decided I’m good.”  _ Fuck _ . There was no way Alice hadn’t seen Ian. Mickey felt completely and utterly fucked. 

“Well, that’s probably for the best. You haven’t taken as many smoke breaks outside recently, that’s a good sign, yes?” She smiled kindly. Alice saw this as her opening to escape the awkward situation, so she moved away from the door and started to head for the kitchen. 

“Right, yeah a good sign.” Mickey muttered absently.

“Oh, I’m making shrimp stir-fry for dinner!” Alice turned around to face him excitedly, knowing just how much Mickey appreciated her cooking. “New recipe. My kids loved it when I made it the other day.” 

“That sounds great. I… I’m gonna go take a nap or somethin’ until Clyde gets home.” Mickey took a long hard look at Alice before they parted ways for good. Their eyes connected and locked, and they shared a moment of complete and utter transparency. Mickey knew she had seen. Alice knew. And what’s more, she wasn’t looking at Mickey like she was disgusted. There was an unspoken  _ understanding _ in her eyes, something that said,  _ your secret is safe with me.  _

He wasn’t sure if it was just what he wanted to see, but regardless, Mickey hung on to the tiny sliver of hope for dear life.

*

Ian was on a bus headed home in no time, still on top of the fucking world after spending all day with Mickey. If that’s how good he could feel just after a handful of hours, he could only imagine how amazing it would be to spend every day together - without the fear of being caught constantly hanging over their heads. 

It might have been a little pathetic, but Ian couldn’t stop himself from taking out his phone and look at the pictures of Mickey he had saved in a separate album, as the bus bounced over the ruts and potholes that announced their departure from the Northside and Ian’s arrival back to his home territory. He was actively resisting the compulsion to text Mickey so soon after leaving, so he compromised by allowing himself to scroll through pictures of Mickey’s pretty face - as if he didn’t have it fucking memorized already.

Ian worked his way through all of the shared photos from the past few weeks - quickly skipping through the dick pics because he was in public- unfortunately sandwiched between two strangers due to the ridiculous overcrowding of the Chicago transit. He did, however, pause on the pictures where Mickey was smiling and flipping him off, presumably sent after one of Ian’s trademarked  _ hilarious _ jokes. Ian smiled up a storm at his favorite one and made the executive decision to set it as the lockscreen of his phone. It was a risky thing to do in the midst of an illicit affair, but Ian was beyond caring. Mickey had single handedly managed to make Ian happier than he’d been in a while, and that was worth fucking celebrating. Besides, there was no chance that Clyde would ever see his phone. 

The thought of Clyde put a slight damper on Ian’s good mood. He couldn’t imagine being in Mickey’s position - having to spend time with that prick after having such an amazing day. Ian had been through some pretty fucked up, dead-end relationships in the past, but nothing compared to the tangled mess of bullshit Mickey was clearly having to endure. Truthfully, Ian was worried for his boyfriend. Mickey seemed to have his shit together, but for how long? Things were bound to crumble eventually. Ian didn’t mind waiting. He knew Mickey would have to figure things out, one way or another, sooner or later. 

Perhaps the best part of Ian’s whole day was discovering that he and Mickey were actually on the same page. 

_ Mickey Milkovich is my fuckin’ boyfriend. Am I dreaming? _ Ian thought as he grinned down at his lock screen. 

Mickey had really put himself out there, taking a huge leap of faith for Ian by committing like that. Ian was at least partially aware of how much effort it had taken for Mickey to get so comfortable with him in such a short amount of time. Truthfully, Ian was in awe of him. Mickey was smart, witty, and so unbelievably attractive - and now he was Ian’s boyfriend. Ian knew he couldn’t have all of him just yet, but at least he had the parts that mattered - Mickey’s  _ heart _ , as horribly sappy as it was. 

Ian just had to take good care of it.

Now, it was Ian’s turn to take a leap of faith. 

He had been thinking about it, but in that moment, Ian knew that he trusted Mickey enough to let him know about his disorder. As much of a self-proclaimed dickhead as Mickey was, Ian knew deep down that Mickey would be understanding, even if he didn’t ever totally  _ understand _ . Ian was positive Mickey would never be a jackass about his illness, but that didn’t take away from the fact that Ian found it incredibly nerve wracking to tell  _ anyone _ . 

But it wasn’t just anyone. It was Mickey. 

Ian’s  _ boyfriend. _

Ian knew that the novelty of the term would eventually fade, but it wasn’t about to happen anytime soon. 

*

Not long after Clyde had arrived home and settled in, Alice informed him that dinner was ready to be served. When he sat down at the table, Clyde was thoroughly shocked to see his husband shamble into the dining room and take a seat across from him. Mickey actually greeted him and engaged with him slightly, and Clyde was pleased as punch. 

The fact that Mickey had actually taken heed of his request to join him for the evening was a good sign. A very good sign indeed. To Clyde, this meant that Mickey wasn’t an entirely lost cause in the long term - perhaps there was something to be salvaged after all. 

In reality, Mickey was doing the only thing he could think to do -  _ damage control _ . He was so spooked by his encounter with Alice that he needed to be present for his own peace of mind - to somehow reassure himself that she wasn’t going to snitch the moment he turned his back. Mickey was pretty sure that Alice hated Clyde. He was also pretty positive it was impossible to be employed by Clyde and not hate him even a little - he was the type of man who only bothered to be gracious when he smelled money in someone’s pockets. 

And so, Mickey ate the delicious food Alice had prepared, and tolerated Clyde’s recounting of his day with a tight smile on his face, trying his best to appear calm and collected. It was a huge fucking step backwards, Mickey knew. He had just gotten a leg up on Clyde’s control and now he was letting himself play right into his husband’s hands once again. It was sickening, but Mickey didn’t feel like he had much of a choice. 

Alice served the two men in pleasant silence, giving off no indication that her mind was spinning. Things suddenly made so much sense to her, and as she looked between Clyde and Mickey before retreating into the kitchen, she felt torn. Generally, Alice believed cheating on one’s partner was a horrible thing to do. She had been cheated on by boyfriends in the past, before her current husband had come into her life, and it was never a nice feeling to know that you were playing second fiddle. However, she was also well aware that Mickey’s relationship with his husband was not a typical one. She had seen more over the past few months than she had let on - it was clear to anyone with eyes that Clyde was happy to treat Mickey as one of his possessions. Alice sometimes felt that Clyde treated  _ Mimsy _ more equitably than his own husband. 

More than anything, Alice hoped that if Mickey chose to continue the affair, he would be careful in the future. 

*

As Clyde ascended the grand staircase that evening, he glanced over his shoulder as he heard creaking footsteps on the wooden stairs behind him. His eyes widened in surprise as he saw Mickey, having appeared out of nowhere, trudging up the steps towards him. Of course, Clyde had a few snarky thoughts about Mickey finally deciding to join him in their bedroom for the night, but he kept them to himself and continued into their master suite, knowing Mickey could just as likely be gathering some of things before retreating back to his little toy room. 

Clyde entered their bedroom and started unbuttoning the cuffs of his dress shirt after hanging up his suit jacket and replacing his tie on the tie rack. Mickey slipped past him, and Clyde licked his lips as he mulled over what his husband's sudden presence could mean. Had Mickey finally forgiven him for the stupid fight they’d had nearly a week ago? 

Over dinner, Mickey had been debating with himself whether or not he should join his husband upstairs that evening. As much as he wanted to retire to the rec room and spend his evening texting Ian, Mickey had a feeling that he wasn’t finished doing damage control. It had been a day of risks, and Mickey didn’t think he could handle any more by escaping to his oasis. He knew he needed to bite the bullet and give Clyde a little of what he wanted - at least a conversation. It was more than the man deserved, but screw it - Mickey was feeling fucking generous. 

Mickey didn’t initiate conversation right away, however, gathering up a clean pair of boxers and a loose t-shirt, and breezing past Clyde to get into their bathroom first. He locked the door behind him and changed quickly, throwing his dirty clothes in the laundry hamper and then brushing his teeth. Mickey stared at his reflection in the mirror for longer than he intended, asking himself if he really wanted to go through with this. Finally, he told himself to nut-up, and go do what needed to be done. Taking a deep shuddering breath, Mickey exited the bathroom and headed towards the bed. 

Clyde was finishing buttoning up his silk pajama shirt as he watched Mickey re-enter the room. “You’re awfully quiet…” He observed aloud as he made his way into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He knew Mickey had gotten his argumentative side under control, but it was still uncharacteristic of his husband to stay silent for so long. “Feeling okay?” He called out around his toothbrush. 

“Yeah. I’m fine.” Mickey responded rigidly, pulling back the freshly changed sheets and comforter from his side of the king sized bed. Once he climbed in and made himself comfortable, he pulled the sheets back up over his body and placed his phone on the bedside table, making sure to position it face down so that Clyde wouldn’t be able to immediately see if the screen lit up with a message from Ian. Despite the nap he and Ian had taken earlier, the day had exhausted Mickey, so he settled down for the night and rolled over onto his side. Maybe if he fell asleep before Clyde returned, he could avoid having to answer any more questions. Although he had a feeling that sleep would be fleeting, with the knowledge of Alice’s little discovery bouncing around on the inside of his skull. 

“Well, that’s good.” Clyde returned to the room, drying his face with a face towel. He dropped it into the empty hamper and wandered over to Mickey’s side of the bed, taking a seat on the edge by his side and waiting for Mickey to make more room for him. He wanted to have a conversation and he wasn’t too keen on speaking to Mickey’s back. 

“I’m glad we’re getting back to normal, now that you’ve decided to be an adult about this.” He stated, keeping his hands folded in his lap as he turned his hazel eyes on Mickey. 

Mickey clamped his eyes shut and tried to relax his body, even though Clyde was clearly doing his best to be insufferable. At this point, he wasn’t even sure if Clyde was doing it on purpose - Mickey was becoming convinced that his husband was sincerely just that self-centered. 

“I know it took you a bit to accept my apology and I was in the wrong for getting so frustrated with you, but you do understand why I was so upset, right?” He goaded Mickey to reply. 

Once again, Mickey stayed silent, shoulders tight as he fumed. Clyde was trying his hardest to get a response, but Mickey had nothing to say. It was jarring really - feeling so soft and easy with Ian all day, and then being forced back into reality by his husband's persistent intensity. 

“Mikhailo…” Clyde sighed and reached out, putting a hand on Mickey’s bicep. “It might have just been some vase to you, but it was important to me. And, on top of that - you  _ and _ that Baxter of yours know that he’s not allowed to enter the room, so it only added insult to injury. If Alice dropped it by accident whilst cleaning, I would have been less upset.” He lied straight through his teeth. 

“Sure you would have…” Mickey scoffed into the pillow, shrugging Clyde’s hand off, and curling even further away. 

“Oh come now, sweetheart. Let’s not argue about this anymore.” Clyde gently guided Mickey onto his back despite how tense the man was, leaning over his upper body and pressing a peck to his lips. It felt like kissing a stone. “I’m glad you’re back in our bed where you belong.” He sat up straight and reached over to turn off the light on Mickey’s nightstand, before walking around to his side of the bed and getting under the covers. 

Clyde let out a grunt as he got comfortable, but having Mickey in bed with him - after such a long week gave him a few ideas. If his husband was back and all was forgiven, it indicated to Clyde that they might both get out their sexual frustrations after a week of next to no physical contact. Innocuously, Clyde scooted closer and closer to the middle of the bed and then rolled onto his side, sliding his arm underneath Mickey’s, resting his hand on Mickey’s stomach. He gave the pouch a little squeeze before sliding his hand lower over Mickey’s boxers, kissing the back of Mickey’s neck just as he guided his other hand towards Mickey’s groin. 

Mickey’s response was instant and visceral. Not only were Clyde’s advances unwelcome, but he knew that there was no way he could let himself be seen naked that night.  _ Ian _ . Ian had marked him. Left little trails evidence all over his thighs and hips and ass, and if Clyde were to see even one of the love bites, he would be screwed. 

With a grunt, Mickey pushed his husband’s hands away and rolled even closer to the edge of the bed. “Not tonight.” He muttered. “Don’t feel good.” Mickey had been giving in and having sex with his husband for years now, even when he wasn’t in the mood. Clyde was fucking easy to please, but it wasn’t going to happen anymore. Especially not tonight. 

“C’mon, Mickey. It’s been a rough week for both of us… why don’t we let off a little steam, huh? I’ve missed you.” Clyde was saying whatever he could to butter Mickey up, hoping to get what he wanted. He walked his fingers down Mickey’s back and then grabbed a handful of his husband’s ass and squeezed. 

“Fuck  _ off _ !” Mickey pushed him away once more, harder this time. “Seriously. I’m not in the fucking mood Clyde!” He finally turned, whipping his body around in the bed and baring his teeth - going on full defence, Milkovich style. He sat all the way up in bed, putting as much distance between himself and Clyde as he could manage. “You don’t get to treat me like shit and then fuck me like nothing happened!” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them - but Mickey didn’t fucking care. 

An enraged Clyde sat up and glared Mickey down. “How dare you say that to me?! I’ve been very patient with you this week, Mikhailo. I give you your fucking space, I provided you with everything you could ever want or need. I would say that you’re treated much better than  _ shit _ , you ungrateful brat.” Clyde ripped the covers off of himself viciously, and clambered out of the bed. He yanked a pillow from his side of the bed and glared coldly at Mickey. “Enjoy the bed all to yourself,  _ dear _ .” He spat, before marching to the door and storming out of the room. Clyde made a beeline for his study, knowing full well that Mickey wouldn’t be chasing after him in a hurry. With any luck he could mourn the rejection and lick his wounds in private. 

“ _ FUCK _ !” Mickey roared as the door slammed behind Clyde. He balled the sheets up in his fist and twisted. His first instinct was to grab his phone and call Ian - but Mickey resisted, knowing that the last thing he wanted to do was upset the man. 

It was clear that there’d never be a moment of peace between Mickey and his husband ever again - and as far as Mickey was concerned it was for the fucking best. 

*

Clyde threw his pillow down onto the chaise lounge in his office - his makeshift bed for the evening. He sighed heavily as he sat down at his desk and glared at every object in the room, stewing in his anger. Mickey had no right. No fucking right to reject him so harshly. Clyde hadn’t done anything so terrible that couldn’t be forgiven, and the fact that Mickey had turned down sex struck him as the largest red flag to date. Throughout the years of their marriage, it was the one pawn Clyde always knew he could play. Whenever Mickey began to slip from Clyde’s grip, he knew that he could always rely on sex to reel his husband back in. 

Clyde knew Mickey was trying to make him out to be some sort of villain. He refused to be labeled an asshole, he refused to accept that he was the bad guy. Clyde had never been anything but a caring, faithful partner, doing his best to mould Mickey into a worthwhile person - a person who deserved to live in the lap of luxury. To hear Mickey being so ungrateful and accusing him of treating his husband like shit - the indignity of it all was nearly too much to handle. All Clyde had ever attempted to do for Mickey was provide. That was love. 

But, of course Mickey didn’t understand the meaning of love.

There had to be more to the story. Not feeling well? It was the oldest trick in the book. Mickey sure as hell wasn’t  _ pregnant _ , despite being moody enough for it. Mickey’s bullshit stories and excuses were meant to be covering something up, and Clyde had never been more sure of it. For weeks, he had been distracting himself from his suspicions, but things were becoming too much to ignore. Something was just not right, yet Clyde couldn’t exactly pinpoint the moment it all began to fall apart. All he knew was that the Mickey he knew was effectively gone - replaced with someone he hardly recognized. 

And he had been spending  _ a lot  _ of time down in the rec room.  _ Maybe there’s something in there?  _ Clyde mused.

After debating it for a moment, Clyde let out a frustrated huff and began the journey down to the rec room. It was a place he never visited, and rightfully so - he had no idea why Mickey enjoyed spending his time in such a dark, enclosed space. When he reached the door to the rec room, he twisted the doorknob and felt confused upon discovering that it wouldn’t open when he pulled. He tried it again and again, and then realized it was locked. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” He laughed in disbelief. 

Mickey was hiding something in there, if he’d been cautious enough to lock Clyde out of a room in his own home. And of course, Clyde’s mind jumped to the worst possible scenario. Was Mickey trying to pull a fast one on him? Stealing his money right under his nose and planning on leaving him?

Was Mickey working for his father again?

Was Mickey  _ cheating _ on him? 

Whatever it was. Clyde was going to get to the bottom of it. 

Storming up the stairs and back towards his office, the beginnings of a plan were already coming together in Clyde’s mind. The events of the last few weeks had all been culminating to this moment of truth, and it was more clear than ever that Mickey could no longer be trusted. Clyde had simply not wanted to believe it before now, but the mound of evidence piling up was becoming undeniable.

Sinking back down into his office chair, Clyde booted up his desktop and opened a fresh browser tab, intent on searching for the one thing he promised himself he never would. Since he had purchased the home in this neighborhood a few decades ago, Clyde had made a point of bragging to his colleagues that he lived in one of the safest neighborhoods in Chicago. No one in his large cul de sac had ever been robbed or vandalized, and so it was a source of pride for the man that he had never had to install an elaborate security system. There were no cameras. No monitors. Just old fashioned locks on all the doors.

Clyde scratched at his beard for several seconds, before setting his hands down on the keyboard and typing in the search bar.

_ Home security systems _

He wasn’t the most savvy person when it came to technology, but after a few minutes of searching, he came across a list of ads targeted for his area of Chicago, highlighting a few companies who would be willing to fully outfit his home with a discrete camera system - a few with consistent five star reviews. Clyde found a pen and scratched a few phone numbers down on a sticky note, determined to call around at a reasonable hour the following morning and line up an appointment immediately. 

With that task accomplished, Clyde turned his attention to the next phase of his plan. He clicked on the search bar once more and began to type.

_Round trip_ _flights to San Francisco._

If he ever wanted to install such an elaborate security system without Mickey catching wind, Clyde would have to figure out a sure fire way to get his husband out of the house, at least for long enough to get the job done. Clyde was positive that Mickey hadn’t seen his sister - the only member of his estranged family that he still had any contact with - in ages, and so he couldn’t imagine a more perfect excuse to force him out. Normally, Clyde would have gone through his own exclusive travel agent for such things, but in this instance he didn’t have the time. He only spent a few minutes searching websites, before selecting a first class ticket on their usual airline and purchasing it without a second thought.

He would paint it like an apology, Clyde decided, entering Mickey’s email address into the website so that the ticket would be sent directly to him. In the morning, he would go to his husband and wave the ticket like a white flag - a peace offering of sorts - when in reality, it was all part of the plan.

If Mickey was violating his trust, he didn’t deserve the right to privacy. Clyde felt not a twinge of remorse in that regard. Clyde reclined in his chair, and told himself to have patience - it was the only way that he would get to the bottom of whatever the hell Mickey was trying to pull.

And the moment he discovered the truth - whatever it was - Clyde knew there would be no going back.

*

The next morning, Mickey was stirred from sleep when the door to the bedroom creaked open. It had been a fitful night of tossing and turning, and Mickey felt fucking exhausted. He cracked one eye open and groaned, annoyed to be awake. 

Clyde was poking his head through the crack in the door. “I can come back later, when you’re finished sleeping.” Clyde suggested demurely. He was determined to really sell the apologetic approach. 

Mickey sat up slowly and once his eyes focused, he glared at his husband. He sure as shit hadn’t forgotten about the previous night, and he wasn’t pleased to see Clyde’s face so soon after. “Nah. I’m awake now. What do you want?” He demanded. 

“I wanted to apologize for last night… that wasn’t a good way for me to try to fix things, I shouldn’t have pushed you.” He entered their room and sat down on the foot of their bed, trying to maintain the pleasant smile on his face. 

Mickey was naturally suspicious of Clyde’s rapid change in mood. The dogs had followed behind Clyde into the room and so Mickey welcomed Baxter up onto the bed, something he knew Clyde hated. “Okay... I don’t know what you want from me.” Mickey stated flatly, scratching Baxter’s belly when the dog happily rolled over for him. 

“Well, I was hoping you’d forgive me. And perhaps check your email to see the gift I got you.” He gestured towards Mickey’s phone and picked up Mimsy, holding her on his lap.

“Email?” Mickey questioned.  _ What the fuck was Clyde going on about? _ “I’m getting  _ email _ apologies now?” 

“No, I’m apologizing right now, in person, but I thought I’d get you a bit of a gift to make up for my behavior too. Go on, have a look.” Clyde watched Mickey slowly reach for his phone on the nightstand.

Mickey eyed his husband like he had two heads, but when he glanced at the phone he saw that he had two notifications. The first was a good morning text from Ian, which he swiftly deleted, thankful that Clyde couldn’t see the screen. The second was an email from some generic flight agency, letting him know that he had secured a first class, round trip ticket to San Francisco, scheduled to depart the following Friday. 

He swiped the notification and opened up the email after putting in his password, careful to casually aim the phone away from his husband's watchful eyes. “A plane ticket. What, am I being sent away?” Mickey asked snarkily, not bothering to hide his skepticism. 

“No, no. I just thought you’d like a change of scenery, to get out of the house and see your sister. It’s been a while since you’ve seen her.” Clyde knew she was the only Milkovich sibling not involved in illegal Milkovich activities, so she was the safest choice. The last thing Clyde needed was to be the laughing stock of all of his friends when his husband got carted off to jail. 

Mickey was caught off-guard by the mention of Mandy. He stared down at his phone, looking through the flight details and contemplating Clyde’s gift. He had all the reason in the world to be suspicious, but he was genuinely so exhausted of everything that the thought of a few weeks somewhere else - anywhere else - was much too tempting to refuse. 

“Uh… thanks, I guess.” Mickey muttered. He didn’t know what else to say, so he simply stared at Clyde. Mickey didn’t know what the fuck his husband had been expecting, but he wasn’t about to express his gratitude in any other way. 

“You’re welcome, darling. Some time apart might be good for both of us.” Clyde stood with Mimsy in his arms and leaned in to plant a kiss on Mickey’s forehead before petting Baxter’s side. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. It’s time to feed the dogs. Baxter, come.” The dog responded reluctantly, giving Mickey one final nuzzle before bowing his head and jumping off of the bed.

As he watched Clyde lead the dogs away, Mickey didn’t know what the fuck to think. Of all the outcomes, he had not expected to be given a free ride straight to Mandy. Perhaps it was just another attempt for Clyde to gain control over him, and assert his dominance yet again. Still, it was just too good to pass up. 

Mickey didn’t give himself any more time to question it, or talk himself out of going. Instead he opened his phone and scrolled through his contacts until he found the number he was looking for. 

Mandy. 

Their last text conversation was dated three months ago. Too long, in Mickey’s opinion, but once communication fell off it was tough to pick it back up.

Mickey ran a hand through his hair, blew out a lengthy breath and started typing.

Mickey (9:52):  _ Clear ur schedule. _

Mickey (9:52):  _ Guess who’s coming to visit bitch  _ 😈

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: get ready for Mandy ;) 
> 
> Since the next few weeks are very busy for both of us school/work-wise, we’re not sure if we’ll be able to get the next chapter posted in two weeks time. However, we’re going to do our best and keep on writing, we have lots more story to come before we wrap things up! Thanks for coming on the journey with us <3 
> 
> As always, kudos and comments make our day and let us know what you guys are thinking <3


	12. A little less hopeless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being so patient with us! The good news is this chapter is over 26k words, which is our longest yet (again)! We've worked so hard on this chapter and we're so excited to share it with you! 
> 
> Warning: this chapter includes a bit more detail about Ian's struggle with bipolar disorder. Read at your own risk!
> 
> As always, enjoy and thanks for sticking with us <3  
> ______________________________________________________
> 
> Jinlin5: Insta (@gallavich_doodles) // Tumblr (@doodlevich)  
> camnoelgallavich: Insta (@cam.monaghanfan) // Twitter (@cam_monaghanfan)

## Thursday Evening 

Mickey (10:24): _Hold up._

Mickey (10:24): _U wanna do what?_

Since finding out about the plane ticket Clyde had purchased for him on the weekend, Mickey had spent the week before his Friday flight making arrangements with Mandy and packing up the shit he’d need for two weeks away. And predictably, he’d only lasted about ten minutes before telling Ian about the trip. 

Although Ian had been excited for him to see his sister, it had not escaped Mickey that Ian seemed equally as bewildered and suspicious of Clyde’s erratic behaviour. Mickey had _conveniently_ left out the specifics of the situation that precipitated Clyde’s spontaneous generosity- he knew that it would only distress Ian and so he kept the little incident to himself. The overall consensus was that Mickey shouldn’t look this particular gift horse in the mouth, and simply take advantage of the break.

Now, it was the day before Mickey he was set to fly out, and he was packing the last of his things in the master bedroom. He and Ian had been texting since supper, when Ian had gotten home from work. 

Ian (10:25): _I wanna see you before you go and he’s not dropping you off at the airport right?_

Mickey (10:25): _No way in hell is he dropping me off. Already told him I’m taking my car and leaving it there._

Ian (10:26): _Then_ _I could go with you. Make sure you get on the plane and all._

Ian (10:28): _If you want._

Ian bit the inside of his cheek as he sent the clarifying followup statements. He didn’t want to assume Mickey would be comfortable meeting him in such a public place, but he was feeling his stomach start to knot at the silence on the other end. So he wanted to see his boyfriend before he left the city on a two week vacation - sue him for being soft. 

Mickey paused midway through shoving wadded up pairs of boxers into the side pocket of his suitcase. He picked his phone up from the bed and contemplated the offer. Of course he wanted to see Ian before leaving for two weeks. Yet, Mickey remembered that Ian had told him earlier that one of his co-workers had asked him to switch shifts with her, and now he would be going back to work just after midnight. 

Mickey (10:30): _Ur gonna be up all night._

Mickey (10:31): _I fly out pretty early. Will u even be off in time?_

Ian (10:32): _Yeah I can make it work. I wanna see you._

Ian (7:32): _It’s been a long week, man_

Ian set his phone down with a sigh to stir the sauce he was cooking on his ancient stove. It was hard to ignore the weight of being Mickey’s dirty little secret, as he sent the message - a weight of not having the freedom to be with Mickey, that he felt bearing down on him more and more as time went by. He had been feeling fine all week, but now the uncomfortable thoughts were returning to him like insidious little boomerangs, and he’d be lying if he said that missing Mickey didn’t have something to do with it. 

Ian left his phone alone momentarily to pay more attention to draining the spaghetti noodles that had just finished boiling, to avoid being burned by the steam as he tipped the pot towards the sink. He wasn’t a whiner, or a complainer. If Mickey said no, he’d suck it up and see him when he got back. _Two weeks. No big deal._

Mickey chewed on his thumbnail and stared into his suitcase, looking at the haphazardly folded clothing, trying to make a decision. After agreeing to be Ian’s boyfriend and then having the wind knocked out of his sails upon realizing that Alice had definitely seen _something_ , Mickey had been feeling a strange combination of on _edge_ and on _cloud nine_. Ian was right. It had been a long week of uncertainty for both of them, and Mickey wasn’t about to go two more weeks without seeing Ian face to face. 

Mickey (10:35): _How about this_

Mickey (10:36): _U get off work at like 7 am right? I’ll pick u up from the station. Boarding should start around 10ish i think._

Mickey (10:37): _Gives us some time to hang out before I go._

Ian (10:45): _That sounds fucking great. You sure you don’t want me to come to you though? I don’t mind._

Ian knew he’d be dead tired coming off of a 7 hour overnight shift, but he didn’t want to inconvenience Mickey, so he figured he should at least offer to take the bus, just like he had on the previous Saturday. Thinking about their Saturday rendezvous made him smile dreamily, nearly causing Ian to drop his phone into the sauce. Once he got a better grip on the phone, Ian shook the _Mickey_ -induced fog from his head and sent a follow up. 

Ian (10:46): _The station is kinda out of the way for you. You don’t gotta come pick me up, I’ll come to your place. You can pick me up down the street or something._

Mickey contemplated Ian’s insistence. One thing he’d learned about his boyfriend over the time they’d known one another was that Ian was often stubborn for no reason. Although Mickey was pretty certain their secret was safe with Alice, their little fuck up late last week was sort of a wake up call to Mickey, illustrating how comfortable they’d gotten with the whole situation. In reality, Ian coming near the house again so soon, even just to escort Mickey to the airport, was still too much of a risk to take. Mickey himself remained incredibly suspicious of Clyde’s intentions. The whole thing still didn’t sit right with him, no matter how Mickey framed it. 

Mickey looked over to the door of his bedroom, making sure it was closed firmly. Clyde had been a busy bee for the entire week, which was a stark contrast from the previous one. Mickey was sure he had a lot of shit to catch up on. Currently, Mickey knew he was alone in the house except for a few members of the weekday staff - Clyde was out for dinner with a few of his business associates - a dinner which Mickey had been informed would most likely turn into drinks. He knew that was why Clyde’s regular chauffeur was waiting around the house - the one his husband employed specifically to fetch him on nights when he knew he’d be too intoxicated to get himself home. Clyde didn’t do _cabs_. 

Passing it off as concern for his husband, Mickey had asked the driver to let him know before he went to collect Clyde - so he felt confident in calling Ian now, without being interrupted. He picked up his phone once again and pressed the little call button, intent on setting the hardheaded ginger straight. 

“Hello?” Ian sounded a little surprised by the call, given the time. 

“Let me come pick you up from work, asshole!” Mickey chuckled over the line, putting Ian on speaker and throwing the phone back onto bed as he continued to stuff his suitcase with clean pairs of socks. “You can fuckin’ take me if you really want to. I’ll let you drive my car. ‘Cause I planned on dumping it at the airport while I’m gone anyway. But seriously, let me come get you!” He knew he sounded like a kid, but he couldn’t refrain from being at least a little bit giddy at the thought of seeing Ian so soon. 

Ian grinned at the happiness that was evident in Mickey’s tone. “Fine, fine. You can come pick me up, but that means you gotta bring coffee too. The shit at the station tastes horrible if you’re not used to it.” He laughed, trapping his phone between his shoulder and his ear as he finished stirring the sauce into the noodles and scooped himself up a heaping plate of spaghetti. He also snagged a can of soda out of the fridge before making his way over to the table.

“Deal.” Mickey conceded. It sounded like a pretty good trade off to him, getting chauffeured to the airport in exchange for coffee - never mind that it was his own car and his own gas. He had to admit, the fact that Ian was so eager to see him before his trip was a little overwhelming to him, but it also made Mickey’s whole body tingle in a way that he hadn’t experienced before in the twenty four years he’s been on earth. 

The men settled into a comfortable silence then, just listening to each other breathe, and Mickey couldn’t seem to turn down the corners of his mouth- to mute the smile that was practically carved into his face. Yanking the zipper on his suitcase, Mickey sealed it up when he was finished. “S’all I wanted to say.” Mickey lied. He just wanted to hear Ian’s voice, but he’d never tell Ian that - it would go straight to the beautiful bastard’s head.

“Yeah?” Ian asked, clearly not buying it, putting the phone on speaker before setting it down on the table in order to twirl his fork in the noodles and maneuver it into his mouth. “How’s the packing going?” He would have far preferred to be having the conversation in person, slurping up the messy meal with Mickey sitting right next to him - but for now the call would have to suffice. 

“Terrible,” Mickey answered honestly, “I can’t pack for shit. Might as well grab a garbage bag and shove it all in there. Might stop me at security though.” Mickey hefted the suitcase onto the floor and flopped onto the bed, leaning his back against the headboard, angled low so that he could rest the phone on his belly. “Thank fuck I’m done now.” 

Ian laughed at the idea of Mickey trying to pass a garbage bag through TSA. “Good, we’re trying to make sure you get on that plane tomorrow.” He took another bite before asking, “What are the pups doing?” It felt so natural, just making conversation. Ian wished he’d paid more attention to the dogs when he had last visited, but in his defence, he had been thoroughly preoccupied. 

“Napping I think. Took ‘em for a run earlier and I’m pretty sure I really tired ‘em out. Especially Mims- she’s so fuckin’ tiny she has to run like hell to catch up with Baxter.” Mickey chuckled as he thought about Mimsy scrambling to keep pace. A yawn suddenly over took him and he let it go, unbridled. “ _Shit_ , they might be onto something.” 

Ian’s heart eyes weren’t an audible sort of thing, but by the way he was looking at his phone, an onlooker would have thought he was deeply in love with it. “You should take one too. I gotta finish eating and clean up and shit before work. We’ll text when you’re up.” He promised. 

Mickey thought it actually might be a good idea to close his eyes. He knew he wouldn’t get much sleep while visiting Mandy - his little sister had a way of keeping him going for days on end. After not seeing her for such a long stretch of time, Mickey was sure there would be a lot of catching up to do. “Sounds good to me,” He muttered, his eyes already starting to close. 

The sleepy quality of Mickey’s voice was giving Ian such out of control butterflies that he had to set his plate aside and take a break from eating. His boyfriend had the gentlest tone when he was about to fall asleep - yet it still sounded undeniably like Mickey. Ian hoped some day he would be able to hear it in person before bed. “Goodnight, Mick. Talk later.” He whispered, pulling the phone closer to hang up. 

“Night…” Mickey hummed, already dozing off as the call disconnected. He had been feeling shaken up all week, stressed by a million uncertainties. There was one thing, however, that Mickey was entirely certain of, and the thought of seeing him early the next morning made sleep come all that much easier.

*

## Friday Morning

The prospect of seeing Mickey in the morning had been enough to get Ian through this shift without a problem. He worked diligently, knowing that every hour that passed would get him closer to seeing Mickey. He knew it would be a quick encounter, since Mickey would have a plane to catch, but he was trying to avoid thoughts of Mickey being gone. Over the course of the week, he’d debated asking Mickey if he wanted to hide away at his apartment for two weeks instead of going all the way to San Francisco, but he’d decided against it when Mickey admitted how excited he was to see Mandy. 

When his shift was finally over, Ian changed as quickly as he could and then jogged out to the front of the station with his bag over his shoulder, hoping that Mickey would already be waiting for him when he made it outside.

Mickey pulled the Lamborghini up to the curb outside of the station and picked up his coffee from the cupholder, making sure it was actually supposed to be his before taking a sip. He hadn’t really thought it through until now - he wasn’t sure how Ian had roped him into bringing the coffee _and_ letting him drive the car, but he’d been too lovestruck in the moment to protest. 

The part where he and Clyde had said their awkward goodbyes hadn’t actually been too difficult. Clyde hadn’t belabour the point, kissing Mickey quickly on the forehead before heading off to work. Mickey didn’t know whether it was actually meant to be relieving that Clyde hadn’t tried to sucker him into a theatrical goodbye, but he was pleased with it all the same. He had grown more and more excited as he had loaded up the car with his luggage and cleared the cul-de-sac. 

Mickey realized he didn’t even mind getting up so early. Not for Ian. 

Glancing in the rear view, he saw Ian bursting through the station door, and glancing around before noticing the expensive car, which looked entirely out of place in the neighborhood. Mickey grinned like an idiot, placing his coffee back in the cup holder and extending his seat back all the way before jumping out of the driver's seat to make the transition to the passenger’s side in order to let Ian take the wheel. 

Ian’s eyes roamed over the sexy black car as he headed towards it, seeing Mickey switch to the passenger’s side on his own accord, and eyeing him up and down as he did so. He saw Mickey was wearing what appeared to be comfortable traveling clothes, and his ass looked so great in the pair of dark grey joggers that Ian couldn’t help but stare for a few seconds longer before it disappeared from his view. Once he reached the driver’s side door, he waved through the window like a goofball before opening the door and climbing into the car. He didn’t waste any time, immediately leaning over the center console to press a kiss to Mickey’s cheek. “Hi!” He panted before he twisted his torso, gently put his bag down on the floor of the backseat, feeling like his ratty old bag wasn’t worthy of being in such a classy car. His pulse was racing, partially from rushing, partially from finally getting to see his boyfriend. 

“Hey,” Mickey smiled and leaned into the kiss, waiting for Ian to get comfortable before dropping the keys into his hand. He watched Ian look around at the sleek interior of the car, wide eyed with wonder. Mickey hadn’t let anyone drive the car before, not even Clyde. It was precious to him, much like his rec room - a line in the sand separating what was his from the rest. Mickey didn’t know if Ian understood how monumental it was - he was the second person to sit in the driver’s seat since the car had been purchased. Nonetheless, he could see that Ian was looking down at the keys in his hand reverentially, which was a good sign, even as he took a distracted sip of the coffee closest to him.

“Before we take off I just want you to know, if you even scratch the body of this fuckin’ car I’m gonna cap your ass in cold blood, chop you up into tiny pieces and feed them to the dogs.” Mickey knew the tone of his voice was much more pleasant than the words coming out of his mouth. He leaned over and patted the side of Ian’s face tenderly before settling back onto his seat. “We clear?” He prompted, at Ian’s silence. 

“Uh… yeah.” Ian was barely paying attention to Mickey’s fake-ass threat. He was already nervous enough - he’d never be able to forgive himself if he fucked up Mickey’s car in any way. “Dude, this car is…” He let out a low whistle and debated if he wanted to be behind the wheel at all. “Look, I wanna drive but, uh… maybe you should.”

Mickey cringed. He hadn’t meant to come off like such a prick. “What? Nah man, I’m just fucking with you. I trust you.” Mickey said it so quickly that he didn’t have time to think about how unusual it was for him to say it out loud. He trusted Ian. More than Clyde, that’s for fucking sure. More than anyone, really. It was exciting, yet terrifying, all at once. “Just… unclench your asscheeks and relax for a second. And then let’s go, ‘cause if we dick around any more I’m gonna miss my flight.” He winked at Ian and felt warmth radiate through him when Ian smiled back. 

“Thought we had time?” Ian quirked an eyebrow, his small smile growing into a full on grin as he took in the moment. He had Mickey all to himself once again, even if it was only for a short time. He knew he needed to make the most of it. He carefully dropped the key into its designated spot on the console and pressed the ‘touch to start’ engine button. “I'm plannin’ on buying you breakfast, asshole. We’re on my schedule now, _Milkovich_.” It was a bold move, ignoring Mickey’s legal last name, but Ian didn’t even notice Mickey react. 

Ian checked the mirrors and adjusted the seat a little more before pulling away from the curb onto the main road, hitting the gas harder than he expected. He chuckled as the car roared beneath him. “Mick!” He exclaimed in child-like excitement. 

Mickey could only laugh as the car took off, speeding towards the highway that would lead them towards the airport.

*

Ian slid the car into a parking spot in the underground lot adjacent to the airport, carefully checking his surroundings to accommodate the massive car. He hadn’t driven an SUV since Fiona had bought one years ago, and hers hadn’t been nearly as expensive or powerful. A _fucking Lamborghini._ He had felt jittery and excited throughout the ride, although he was sure the fact that he’d chugged his entire large coffee at a single stoplight, in only a few gulps, may have had something to do with it. As soon as Ian put the car in park and let the engine die down, he decided to expel some of the pent up energy by reaching for Mickey with both hands to haul his boyfriend's face close to his. He planted a passionate kiss on Mickey’s perfect lips, ignoring the fact that Mickey was in the middle of mumbling along to whatever song was on the radio before the car shut off completely.

[](https://ibb.co/9gsDyfs)  
Mickey was caught entirely off guard by the sudden presence of Ian’s lips on his. He exhaled through his nostrils, and decided to just go with the flow, letting Ian take the lead. By the time they broke away from one another, both men were thoroughly out of breath. “Jesus,” Mickey chuckled cheekily, “Didn’t think the idea of airport food would get you so fuckin’ riled up, Gallagher.” 

“It’s not that.” Ian laughed and swatted at Mickey’s chest before flipping his hand around and running his digits along the seam of Mickey’s t-shirt. His eyes trailed after his fingers and when he glanced up, Mickey was still watching him. Slowly, Ian fisted his hand in Mickey’s shirt, reeling him in to speak against his lips. He paused for dramatic effect, letting Mickey think another kiss was in store for him. “It’s you. You always get me riled up.” 

Mickey’s eyelids fluttered shut, waiting for Ian’s lips to make contact with his. When the feeling didn’t come, Mickey opened his eyes and scowled. “Then what the fuck are you waiting for, hmm?” 

“That.” Ian chuckled at the man’s grouchiness and pressed his open mouth to Mickey’s, licking along his lower lip before giving it a teasing nibble. If Ian was any smaller, he would’ve already climbed over the divider and landed in Mickey’s lap, but unfortunately his lanky limbs wouldn’t allow it. 

Mickey hummed happily into the kiss and hissed when Ian nipped at his bottom lip - he’d come to learn that it was one of Ian’s signature moves and Mickey would have ribbed him about it if he didn’t find it so goddamn sexy. Eventually, he forced them to break apart once more when things got predictably heated, reminding himself that they were currently making out like horny teenagers in the underground parking lot of an airport. 

“Always pushing me away...” Ian tutted breathlessly as he sat back and rested his temple on the headrest, simply appreciating Mickey. “Don’t know why we gotta stop. You got a perfectly good backseat right there.” He joked, jabbing his thumb towards the back of the vehicle. 

“Oh sure, you’d like that wouldn’t you. Fuckin’ exhibitionist over here… there are families and shit walkin’ by, you freak.” Mickey scrunched up nose, his face inches from Ian’s. He had to admit the idea of being railed by his boyfriend before leaving for two weeks was a pretty enticing idea. But Mickey knew if he got too carried away, he’d never make it on the plane. Still, he could tease the hell out of Ian for fun. 

“I gotta say though, watchin’ you drivin’ my car around may or may not be turning me the fuck on.” Mickey murmured, sliding his fingers up the seam of Ian’s jean-clad inner thigh slowly - so slowly - tracing the stitches like connecting the dots. He felt the tingle deep in his stomach as he watched Ian wrap his hands tightly around the steering wheel and trap his own bottom lip between his teeth. 

Ian held his breath as he stayed still, eyes locked on Mickey’s hand. “Yeah? Got me all hot and bothered too…” Ian mumbled, before giving into the uncontrollable urge to lift Mickey’s wrist and press his palm down onto his crotch so that made contact with Ian’s growing hardness, which was straining against his jeans.

“Maybe a goodbye blow job?” Mickey smirked impishly and held his hand in the position for a few seconds, squeezing Ian’s bulge, before forcing himself to rip his hand away to continue with his plan. “You fuckin’ _wish._ ” Mickey taunted and quickly unbuckled himself, flinging open his door into the space beside the car and ducking out. “Now come help me drag the luggage in, bitch!” He called over his shoulder. As hard as it was for Mickey to stop himself from bending down to swallow Ian’s dick whole, the priceless expression on Ian’s face was well worth it. 

Ian balked and turned to look over the backseat as Mickey opened the trunk, staring with his jaw dropped. “You fuckin suck! You’re just gonna blue ball me?!” He flipped Mickey off, even though he was pretty sure Mickey couldn’t see him anymore. Ian turned back around and crossed his arms, stubbornly staying put. Of course he wasn’t actually angry about the situation, but he was enjoying the game of it all, and he knew Mickey was too.

Mickey hauled both of his suitcases and his carry on out of the trunk and scoffed upon seeing that Ian was still sulking in the driver's seat. “Come on, man. This shit’s not gonna carry itself.” He called out, and when Ian didn’t budge, Mickey slammed the trunk closed, leaving his luggage to walk around to Ian’s door and yank it open. He stared down at the man and sucked his teeth. “You keep this up and you’re gonna miss your chance to have your first goodbye blowjob in an airport bathroom…”

Ian measured Mickey up with his eyes and then squinted at him. “I don’t fuckin’ believe you, _liar_.” He reached out a hand and pinched Mickey’s nipple over his shirt, twisting it and then pulling his hand back as Mickey yelped and jumped back. “Gotta gimme something better than that.” He looked off dramatically through the windshield, trying not to crack a smile, like he was going for an Emmy or some shit. At first Ian was just being stubborn, but now he was trying to see what Mickey would say or do in order to get him out of the car.

“You’re such a fuckin’ baby,” Mickey huffed. “What the fuck is better than a semi-public blowjob?” He was genuinely bewildered. He had a feeling Ian was playing his reactions up, acting out because he was leaving. He knew Ian was going to miss him - mostly because Mickey knew how goddamn much he was going to miss Ian. It was a nice feeling, knowing that he was going to be missed. “Can we just go eat? I think you’re just a little squirrely because you’re hungry or something, man.” 

Ian flipped him off yet again, and finally proceeded to clamber out of the car, crowding into Mickey’s personal space. He towered over Mickey, eyeing him and pointedly giving him the chin while saying nothing - Ian’s signature move. He stepped to the side to shut the door behind him with a flick of his wrist, before suddenly grabbing Mickey by the hips and whirling him around. Ian heard the breath leave Mickey’s lungs, echoing in the expansive underground area as he pivoted them both around and pushed Mickey up against the door of the car. 

“By ‘give me something better’, I mean you’re supposed to kiss me, dumbass.” He bent down and pecked Mickey’s lips before pushing away as if nothing had happened. He held both suitcases for Mickey and started wheeling them away, looking back over his shoulder as he called out. “Grab your carry on, short stack, let’s fuckin’ roll!” 

Mickey stayed pressed against the car for a moment, even after Ian had gone, just blinking and breathing. He tilted his head slightly, watching Ian begin to cart off the bags. 

“Well if that’s all you fuckin’ wanted!” Mickey exclaimed, scooping up his carryon and chasing after a cackling Ian - purposefully ignoring the middle aged mother with the stroller shooting daggers at him from across the parking garage. 

Ian laughed and slowed down to let Mickey catch up to him, flashing him a genuine smile. Mickey rolled his eyes, sidling up to Ian close enough for him to reach into his pocket and snatch the keys, locking the car while they were still in range. 

Once they left the parking garage behind, Ian saw the huge entrance to Midway Airport looming in front of him. He took in the length of the huge building in front of them, and all the people milling about - either entering or exiting. “I’ve never been here before. Well to any airport, actually.” He mumbled to Mickey. 

Mickey had figured that was the case. Before Clyde had entered his life, Mickey had never been to an airport either, much less actually getting on a plane. Growing up in the Southside, the day-to-day cost of survival was barely having enough money left over for food, let alone flights or vacations. He felt self-conscious again, just for a moment, as he watched Ian trail slightly ahead of him, gazing in amazement at the crowded and noisy venue. 

Business men in expensive suits breezed past them and through the revolving doors, as well as young couples wheeling sticker covered suitcases, and smiling families with gaggles of squawking kids following them. Cars were lined up near the entrance, picking up and dropping off, and the conflicting emotions were almost palpable. Mickey felt like an asshole - letting Ian bring him all the way to the airport and then leaving. It felt like rubbing it in Ian’s face a little bit. Even though Mickey was sure Ian probably didn’t view it that way, he couldn’t ignore the feeling. 

“Airports are a nightmare, man,” Mickey shrugged in response, and quickened his pace to get in front of Ian and take the lead. “Let’s go. This way.” They approached the revolving door and Mickey stepped in with his carryon, waiting for Ian to follow him. 

Ian was still looking around curiously after Mickey began to lead the way, but he knew he’d better not waste any more of their time together, so he hurried along, close behind. He didn’t want to make a fool out of himself by tripping over something or - God forbid - breaking something. He was pretty sure Mickey would kill him if he managed to break anything else. He reigned in his wonder and followed Mickey through the bustling entrance and up an escalator to the departures level. Mickey already had his boarding pass ready on his phone, and so all they needed to do was check his luggage in. 

As they stood in line, Ian looked around, trying to scout out places to eat. Not seeing any from their position in line, Ian took out his phone and brought up the airport’s website. “So since I’m buying breakfast...” Ian began as they moved up one position in line. “Where do you want to eat?” 

Mickey mulled it over as he pulled out his own phone to check that his boarding pass was there for the millionth time. “I dunno, I forget what the options even are - just because I’ve been here before doesn’t mean I have all the damn restaurants memorized, Red.” Mickey joked, noticing that Ian was currently scrolling through the list on his phone. “All the good shit’s past TSA anyway.” He remarked. 

“Oh.” Ian’s smile dimmed. He didn’t know much about travelling through airports, but he did know he couldn’t get through TSA without a ticket. He hoped that maybe Mickey would be okay with picking something to eat before going past the checkpoint. 

Mickey saw the disappointment flicker across Ian’s face as they both stepped up to the counter. The employee behind the desk went through the motions, and Mickey was quickly able to check in his luggage. As he watched the bags disappear on the conveyor belt, Mickey made an instantaneous decision. Instead of walking away from the desk, Mickey stepped back over to it, much to the confusion of the attendant. 

“Is there anything else I can do for you today sir?” The man inquired. 

Mickey leaned against the counter. “Yeah you can. Gimme your cheapest ticket, one way, going anywhere.” 

The man cleared his throat and stared at Mickey for a second more before turning his attention to the screen in front of him. “This is the cheapest one we have today sir.” He swiveled the monitor, showing Mickey a screen of information. “I just need a valid piece of government ID and a credit card.” 

“Sure, whatever. Looks perfect.” Mickey didn’t even bother to actually read the information, nodding curtly at the bewildered employee before turning to see Ian gaping at him. “What are you staring at? Fork over your license.” 

“Uh…” Ian slowly pulled out his wallet, clearly confused about what Mickey was up to. However, he went along with it anyway without protest. He pulled his license out and handed it to Mickey who passed it over to the man behind the counter, along with his American Express. “What are you doing?” Ian bent to whisper in Mickey’s ear. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Mickey hissed back, without making eye contact with Ian. It only took a minute for the boarding pass to print and after Mickey swiped his card and the man behind the counter filled in Ian’s information, they were all set.

“There you are, sir.” The man slid the boarding pass across the desk along with Ian’s license, and Mickey swiped them up, handing Ian back the card and their newly acquired boarding pass. “You folks have a great day.” Mickey nodded in thanks and placed his hand on Ian’s back between his shoulder blades, escorting his stunned boyfriend away. 

“There,” Mickey snickered at the expression on Ian’s face. “Now you ain’t gotta worry about TSA and we can go eat wherever the fuck we feel like. Problem solved.” 

“Wha… What?! How much did you just pay? That’s not fair, Mick.” He groaned. “Don’t make me fuckin’ google it.” He stared down at the ticket dumbfoundedly as he kept walking.

“None of your damn business!” Mickey replied smartly. Ian looked forlorn, gazing down at the ticket and back up at Mickey. On a whim, Mickey reached downward and grasped onto Ian’s free hand, tangling their fingers and effectively distracting him. Mickey wasn’t much of a hand holder, but for Ian he would make an exception. “Now let’s go get some grub before my stomach fuckin’ canabalizes itself or some shit.” 

*

Once they jumped through all the hoops of TSA and made it to the other side, the variety of choices that faced them became overwhelming.

“Woah.” Ian looked around at the mall-like area where they found themselves standing. His shoes were back on and he was securing his belt in place, before wordlessly taking Mickey’s carry-on, so his boyfriend wouldn’t have to lift a finger. Mickey raised an eyebrow as Ian took the bag from him, but he let it happen anyway. 

They walked past the throngs of people milling about, surveying their options. Mickey finally saw a place that didn’t appear to be swamped by patrons, and looked like it could serve a half-decent breakfast. The sign above read “The Market”, and Mickey figured it was as good a place as any to spend their time before his departure. They skirted the crowds and made their way to their destination. “I think my gate’s just over there actually,” Mickey pointed over Ian’s shoulder as they waited at the entrance while a smiling hostess wiped down a corner booth. 

“That’s convenient.” Ian chuckled. Luckily they only had to wait for a minute for a short line to clear, and by the time they made it to the counter to place their order, Ian’s credit card was already in his hand. He had been serious about Mickey not paying, especially after the little boarding pass stunt Ian had just watched him pull. They order two bacon, egg, and cheese bagels, two more coffees, a couple pastries and whatever muffins Mickey had gestured to. Ian’s eagerness to pay made Mickey chuckle and he didn’t try to intervene. Instead, once the food was paid for and they were assured that someone would be bringing the rest of their order right over, Mickey took the opportunity to steal his carryon back from where it was looped around Ian’s shoulder and head over to the booth that was waiting for them, with a pastry in his other hand. The passive little battle over who would carry the luggage was entertaining as all hell - just another little game he and Ian seemed to naturally fall into. 

Mickey slid into the booth and watched Ian do the same, and soon they were doing nothing but staring at each other and smiling goofily. “Think we got enough food?” Mickey asked sarcastically. 

“Nope. In fact, I’m gonna go order you more right now. Ya know, for the road.” He playfully pretended to get up from his side of the booth to go back to the register. He sat back down with a laugh when he felt Mickey grab his wrist. 

“Stop, fuckin’ _dork_!” Mickey chuckled, and he didn’t let go of Ian’s wrist when the man slid back across from him, instead slipping his fingers down to squeeze Ian’s upturned palm. He was feeling particularly infatuated with Ian, and he couldn’t help himself. There was something about a minor touch from Ian that soothed him more than any words. 

Ian smiled down at their joined hands resting on the table top, until a feeling of forelornment overtook him when he thought about Mickey getting on the plane. In a desperate attempt to mask his sadness, he cracked yet another joke. “I need to feed you as much as I can so you don’t forget me while you’re gone. That’s what you did for Bax and Mims, isn’t it?” He teased. 

Mickey simply shook his head at Ian’s foolishness, as he slid his thumb up and played with the band of Ian’s watch. In truth, he was feeling slightly anxious about seeing his sister after such a long time apart. Plus, he was still trying to figure out how the trip he was about to embark on fit into Clyde’s ultimate plan - there had to be an ulterior motive. Mickey felt a bit jumbled inside, and he was glad Ian was with him so he had something pleasant to focus on. “This is our first date.” He blurted. “I mean, technically.”

Ian found himself _blushing_ at the remark- not to mention the way Mickey held his hand so freely. The whole situation made his heart skip a beat. “Yeah it is. And it definitely won’t be our last.” His voice was soft and hopeful as he squeezed Mickey’s hand as if to reassure him of that fact. “I’ll plan our next one, as soon as you give me a date and time.” He winked. 

Mickey was trying hard not to melt into his seat, but it wasn’t working. “We can plan that shit when I get back, alright?” Once again, any thoughts of Clyde or the bullshit he was undoubtedly up to were pushed out of Mickey’s mind. “The return ticket is for two weeks from now, but if Mandy annoys the piss outta me like think she’s gonna, I might be back sooner.” He was only half kidding. 

“I’m sure she won’t.” Ian shrugged, “She probably misses you just as much as you miss her, if not more. You should stay, even if she pisses you off. You got a free pass outta hell for two weeks, might as well enjoy it.” Despite how difficult saying even a temporary goodbye was for Ian, he really did think his boyfriend needed this break from Clyde, and maybe even from Chicago. It was going to be hard to be away from him, but he knew it was best for Mickey. 

“Who fuckin’ said I missed her?” Mickey tried to keep a straight face, but cracked a smile at the last second. Before he could say anything else, the same woman who had cleaned off their table earlier swooped by with a tray containing the rest of their food - taking her time to place each separate item on the table in front of the men before telling them to enjoy and darting off again. 

Ian called out a thank you after her and then set his sights back on Mickey. “Hope you know how to eat with your other hand because this one’s been taken hostage, and I’m not giving it back.” Ian laughed as he squeezed Mickey’s hand and then softened his hold on it in case Mickey wanted to take it back. He quickly glanced across to Mickey’s left hand because he couldn’t stop himself from checking to see if Mickey was wearing his ring. 

Of course, Mickey wasn’t wearing it. He’d kept his ring off while his hand was healing, and he hadn’t bothered to put it back on. Clyde hadn’t noticed, as far as Mickey could tell, and it felt like yet another symbolic tie being severed. At present, the gaudy ring was in his wallet, and Mickey didn’t plan on putting it on again until it was absolutely necessary. 

Mickey snorted at Ian and picked up his breakfast sandwich with his unoccupied hand, taking a huge bite. “Go for it. You ain’t gonna stop me from eating.” Mickey challenged. 

Ian tilted Mickey’s hand up and interlocked their fingers. “You’re a sap, you know that?” He mumbled, resting his cheek on his other hand and propping himself up on his elbow, content to watch Mickey eat. He was starving because he hadn’t eaten since 3a.m. but his hunger could wait in favor of making heart eyes at his boyfriend. 

After a while, Mickey’s cheeks began to ache from the effort of chewing and smiling at the same time. Their hands stayed locked together for as long as possible but eventually the men had to separate, as eating took top priority. Mickey watched as Ian swallowed a muffin in two bites, looking as if he barely stopped to chew. They sat in silence as they ate, observing as people passed. It was a different type of silence than Mickey was used to - the kind that Ian always brought with him. A comfortable quiet. Mickey checked the time to see that they still had a little while before he would have to board, and he was grateful for it. Ian looked exhausted, but he was hiding it well, and Mickey couldn’t help but admire the man. 

“When was the last time you went out there?” Ian asked as he started to pack up the pastries they hadn’t eaten for Mickey to take on the plane as a snack. 

Mickey considered the question seriously. “Shit, it’s been a while man.” He rested his back against the cushion of the booth, patting his stomach and letting out a low growling belch. Inhaling two fully loaded breakfast sandwiches had really done him in. “Probably like a year and half ago, just after she got hitched.” 

Mickey reminded himself that Ian had been close enough to Mandy at one point, although it had been a long time ago. Ian most definitely remembered a very different Mandy than the one that Mickey was more or less familiar with - the one who lived in a decently nice apartment with her lawyer husband and a fucking pet rabbit, from what Mickey could remember. He had met his sister’s husband a few times - the most memorable being on their fucking wedding day. He was a nice enough guy, completely head over heels for Mandy, and Mickey had been sure to put the fear of god in him before a single vow was uttered. 

“She’s _married? Mandy,_ your sister Mandy? Holy shit.” Ian could hardly wrap his head around the concept. “I need to know more than that, man! What’s her husband like?” He inquired curiously, reflecting back on his childhood- on the girl with the neon pink strands of hair hanging down in front of her face, and the huge plastic hoop earrings she wore everyday. The girl who had offered to pose as his girlfriend, in order to save both of their asses from the ridicule of their classmates. “Is he… good to her?” An unpleasant memory flashed into his mind but he shook it off just as quickly. After everything she went through - everything they all went through - the Milkovich kids deserved to be happy. 

“Matteo? Yeah he’s good to her. From what I saw when I met him, she basically has him by the balls. He wouldn’t hurt a fuckin’ fly.” Mickey remembered a time where he would have actively considered that type of softness to be a bad thing. He wasn’t so sure anymore. “Honestly, after how deep I threatened to bury his ass if he ever laid a finger on her, he probably brings her breakfast in bed every day or some shit.” 

“They must be making bank ‘cause I’ve heard San Francisco ain’t cheap. Fi sent us a postcard from there when she left home to travel, but she said she couldn’t afford to stay for long.” Ian hummed thoughtfully.

“Yeah well, Matteo’s a lawyer, so he’s making pretty good money - ‘least that’s what she says. I keep tellin’ her to stop fuckin’ lying and just admit she’s sellin’ her ass on the corner.” Mickey snickered at his own joke. Apparently, Mandy had managed to score a position at her husband’s firm after a few years of schooling. His sister was a fucking _paralegal_ \- who saw that shit coming? “I wasn’t the only Milkovich who managed to claw their way tooth and nail out from the back a’ the yards.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Mickey wished like hell that he could have taken them back. He had a way of doing that shit - forgetting who he was talking to. Forgetting that, at least with Ian, he couldn’t go on pretending that his Northside life was a bed of roses.

Ian nodded distantly and turned to look as a frizzy haired woman ran past their booth with her shockingly loud suitcase clanking against the floor as she hurried to make the last boarding call at her gate. He ran his tongue over his teeth as he thought about what to say to that. As a teenager had resigned himself to the fact that he was most likely never going to make it out of the Southside. He lived in a decent apartment and could afford a comfortable lifestyle - a far cry from the destitute poverty of his childhood. Unless something monumental changed, that was where he would stay. And he liked it, more or less. The comfort and control of knowing what would happen in the future. The simpleness of it all. He had resented Mickey’s arrogance in the beginning, but now that he knew more of the story, he couldn’t find it in himself to be upset. 

“Fuck. Sorry.” Mickey murmured. He felt like an asshole for even saying something so obnoxious, and he wondered if Ian was willing to bypass it. 

“Sorry for what? It’s the truth.” Ian shrugged, “You both got out, don’t have to deal with any shit from the past anymore; drunk assholes for parents, neighborhood drama, the whole thing.” He looked back at Mickey as he spoke again, “You got a chance to be rich and happy.” He gave Mickey a half-hearted smile, “just hope it works out for one of you.”

Mickey blinked, dumbfounded. He didn’t know what he had been expecting Ian to say, but the comment left him speechless for once in his life. He wasn’t sure how to take it, or whether or not it was his turn to be offended. Ian was right though, and Mickey couldn’t deny it. He was certainly rich, but he was recognizing more and more every day that he had never truly been happy. 

Ian felt the lull in conversation more than he thought he would, so he stood up to cut the tension and stretched his sore, tired limbs - his shirt rising up a bit as he reached upwards. He let out a small groan at the sound of his joints popping. He gave Mickey a little smile, and moved to the other side of the booth, sitting down next to Mickey and leaning sideways to lay against his shoulder. “How much time you got now?” He asked. 

Mickey relaxed with the weight of Ian pressing down on him, taking in the scent of his cologne and the warmth of his solid frame. He checked the time once more on his phone, realizing that the minutes were slipping way much more quickly than he would have liked. 

“A little over half an hour until boarding…” Mickey tilted his head, looking down at Ian where his head was resting on Mickey’s shoulder. “So… how about that goodbye blowjob? Didn’t think I’d forget, did ya?” He hummed mischievously.

Ian couldn’t help but stifle a laugh at the sound of Mickey’s voice right in his ear. “You’re gonna have to carry me there. I’m a little too comfortable right now.” He mumbled, lifting Mickey’s arm and moving his own body lower to tuck himself under it. He could feel every point at which their bodies were connected, and Ian decided that it was more than enough for him for the time being.

Mickey chuckled and tightened his grip around Ian little by little, until the benign embrace effectively turned into a choke hold. He grinned evilly, taking the opportunity to mess up Ian’s hair now that he was trapped. “How about now? Still comfortable?” Mickey cackled, creating resistance as Ian wriggled. He couldn’t have cared less that people in the vicinity were now probably staring at their antics - Ian was the only person around whose opinion Mickey gave a fuck about.

“Ahhhh! Fuckin’ quit it!” Ian squirmed and then craned his neck down and bit into Mickey’s forearm. “Take that!” He mumbled with his mouth full of flesh, before pushing Mickey away and popping upright, glaring at the man, his eyes wild, and his hair a mess. “ _Damn_ , here I was just tryin’ to enjoy a nice power nap on my guy’s shoulder and-...” 

“You ain’t got time for a nap, bitch!” Mickey felt the tips of his ears warm up at Ian referring to him as ‘ _his guy_ ’. It was exhilarating and off putting all at once, to remember the commitment he’d made to the man sitting beside him - the double life he was leading that was soon to catch up with him one way or another. 

Mickey was well past starting to think that things wouldn’t be so bad if they did. 

Before Mickey could taunt his boyfriend anymore, he saw the screen of his phone light up with a rare sight - a text from Clyde. His stomach bubbled, and his anxiety spiked - there was nothing like a message from his husband to bring him crashing back down to reality. 

Clyde (9:58): _I know you’re boarding soon. Safe flight. Let me know when you land._

Mickey tried to swipe the message away before Ian could see, but in his haste he accidentally opened up the phone, and the conversation, displaying the messages even more prominently.

Ian leaned over to see if it was Mandy, opening his mouth to say something, and then shutting it just as quickly as he moved back. He knew he shouldn’t have been snooping, and now he regretted it. Seeing Clyde’s name and reading his message was more than enough to burst Ian’s blissful bubble. “Yeah, uh... I’m gonna go hit the can. I’ll be right back.” He stood up awkwardly. Ian knew it was obvious that he didn’t actually have to use the restroom- Mickey wasn’t that easy to fool. “Don’t leave without saying bye, alright?” 

Rolling his eyes, Mickey didn’t have to think his next move over. He shoved his phone into the pocket of his jeans and slid out of the booth right behind Ian, dragging his carryon behind him. Ian looked surprised, but Mickey wasn’t about to entertain any questions. “You’re a shitty liar, man.” Mickey grumbled, taking Ian’s hand once again like it was the most natural thing in the world and practically hauling him from the restaurant, following the signs for the nearest bathroom. 

Ian smiled at the back of Mickey’s head, feeling a sense of deja vu as he was dragged along again, following him through the bathroom doors. He was pulled into the handicap stall at the end of the row and pushed up against the door before he could protest - not that he would. There were several people in the restroom when they entered, but all were minding their business, so no one seemed to notice that the two men had slipped into the stall together. Thankfully, the bathroom was just as fancy as Mickey remembered, and the stalls resembled little cubicles rather than typical public bathroom stalls - devoid of the usual gap between the floor and the stall walls. This meant that no one would see Mickey on his knees, and no one would call security on them - as long as they managed to stay quiet, that is. 

Mickey leaned all of his weight into Ian, pinning him against the stall door, a hand clamped firmly over the man’s mouth. “It’s my turn to suck your soul right out through your cock,” Mickey hissed into Ian’s ear, and bit the lobe for added effect, pulling away and stretching the skin before letting it snap back into place. “You gotta shut the fuck up though, or we’re gonna get thrown out and I sure as hell won’t make my flight…” 

Ian nodded frantically in agreement and grasped Mickey’s hips excitedly, his hands gravitating to where they belonged. He bit his lip as he watched Mickey slide down onto his knees in front of him, fingers working away at his belt buckle. In seconds, Ian had become hard as a rock, straining against his jeans once more, begging for release.

Mickey worked quickly and efficiently. In seconds, he had pushed Ian’s jeans and boxers down to about mid-thigh, allowing Ian’s cock to spring out in front of him. Mickey realized suddenly that it was his first time sucking Ian’s dick - every other time had been either dreamed or imagined. He felt the urge to prove himself, to show Ian that he could give back everything he’s received - and then some. He didn’t give himself any more time to psych himself up, preferring instead to dive in head first. 

Mickey took the first four or five inches into his mouth out incident, swirling his tongue around the dripping head of Ian’s cock. It was the next few inches that proved to be challenging, and Mickey stifled a groan as he felt his mouth stretch out around Ian’s thick member. Mickey was stiff as board in his jeans, and he quickly unbuttoned them to give himself some much needed relief. 

Ian’s head dropped back and it collided with the metal of the stall door harshly, but he was too blissed out to care. He clamped his eyes shut as he dropped his hand into Mickey’s hair, guiding his boyfriend to pry his pretty mouth open around the shaft.

Mickey allowed himself to sink down a few more inches before pulling all the way back, suctioning his lips around the head of Ian’s cock for a few seconds, practically feeling his pulse in the tip. Then, without having to be instructed, Mickey went to work. He swallowed the majority of Ian’s length once more and bobbed back and forth, coating it with copious amounts of saliva. 

Ian let out a choked moan before looking down to watch Mickey - which he knew would be detrimental to his ability to stave off his orgasm, but fuck it. He _needed_ to see Mickey swallowing him down, even if that meant he’d only last for ten more seconds. 

Each time Mickey pushed forward, more and more of Ian’s cock lodged itself down his throat, until finally he was flush with Ian’s pelvis. Mickey paused when his nose bumped the skin and he held the position - his eyes were watering like hell and he could feel Ian so far down his throat that the urge to gag was becoming harder to resist. Instinctively, Mickey’s eyes flicked up to meet Ian’s and he could tell that he was ruining the man, although it had only been a minute or two. He was sure that the public aspect of it all was driving Ian just as wild as it was Mickey. The sound of footsteps inches away from the stall as people entered and exited the bathroom had Mickey’s cock standing at full attention. Fuck, maybe he and Ian really were _both_ exhibitonists. He rolled his joggers and briefs down with one hand, out of the way, so he wouldn’t stain the fabric with precum. 

Ian stifled a deep moan behind closed lips and tugged on Mickey’s hair, warning him to pull back or things would be over. He was completely undone staring into Mickey’s ocean blue eyes and the sight of Mickey’s leaking tip after that was too much for him to bear. “Mick.” He whispered, his voice wrecked, straining to be quiet. He pulled Mickey halfway off of his dick, but he couldn’t form the words to warn him before he was cumming, biting down on his tongue to keep from yelling out. 

Mickey swallowed the thick load like a champ, with only a bit of Ian’s cum escaping from the corner of his mouth to drip down his chin. He was more impressed by Ian actually - the fact that his normally noisy as hell lover had managed to stay relatively quiet was nearly unbelievable. Mickey placed both palms on Ian’s upper thighs, feeling them shake with the exertion of holding himself up through his orgasm. He had to force the smile from forming as he sucked Ian’s wilting length back onto his mouth one last time, licking him clean before tucking him back into his boxers. He pulled back and swallowed audibly - letting Ian _hear_ it. Only when he looked back up into Ian’s eyes did Mickey allow himself to smile, using his thumb to wipe away the string of jizz dripping down his chin before it had a chance to fall onto his shirt. 

Ian folded at the waist and tugged Mickey up to press against him as he leaned back against the door once more. “Fuck that was…” He had no words to describe how _amazing_ the blowjob made him feel, from the inside out, so he did the next best thing. He pressed his lips against Mickey’s, finally letting out a moan into Mickey’s mouth, tasting the remnants of himself on Mickey’s tongue. 

Mickey gnarled his fists in Ian’s shirt and returned the kiss with wild abandon. His cock was still aching painfully, and the way Ian was manhandling him wasn’t helping him become less aroused. He knew they probably had little time before boarding began, and so he wasn’t about to get his hopes up for his blowjob to be reciprocated. Giving Ian such a satisfying orgasm was the next best thing, after all. Nevertheless, Mickey ground his hardness into Ian’s still exposed thigh, rutting like he was in heat.

Ian kept his lips connected to Mickey’s as he reached down and wrapped his hand around Mickey’s cock, reaching back and squeezing Mickey’s ass to still him. “Mmm, so fuckin’ hard. Gonna cum for me, Mick?” He breathed against his lover’s lips, licking into his mouth as he began jerking Mickey off - gradually picking up speed as he spread precum up and down his shaft. 

All Mickey could do was fucking _whine_ , and he knew he sounded pathetic and that someone was sure to hear him, but he was so turned on he couldn’t bring himself to care. It was just a handjob - but then again, nothing could be _just_ anything with Ian. Mickey’s entire body was on fire. He pressed his face into Ian’s shirt and let Ian’s shoulder muffle his deep moans, shortly before an orgasm slammed into him like a Mac truck. He was thankful that Ian had the presence of mind to cup his hand around the head of his cock seconds before he came, preventing him from making a mess all over both of their shirts. 

Ian chuckled softly as he tried to catch his breath, finally letting go of the tension that had built up in his body as he felt Mickey do the same. He wrapped his arm around Mickey’s shoulders and kissed the side of his head before he remembered the stickiness in his palm and casually licked some of Mickey’s cum out of his hand. He saw Mickey start to make a face at him, but he shrugged it off. “Well I’m not gonna waste it.” He joked. 

“Fuckin’ nasty,” Mickey growled, reaching for the toilet paper roll. He wadded some up and slapped it into Ian’s palm, causing them both to fall into silent fits of laughing. Mickey couldn’t believe they’d just gotten off in a public bathroom, or how exhilarating it had actually been. “ _Jesus Christ_ !” Mickey whispered, leaning his forehead against Ian’s chest as he held back a snicker. “ _What the fuck is wrong with us_?” 

“Absolutely nothing, man.” Ian wiped his hand off and smiled at Mickey, enjoying the fact that Mickey wasn’t backing out of his arms. Instead, they were just resting against the stall door in a casual embrace. He was going to miss it, while Mickey was gone. They remained this way until the speakers in the bathroom announced the boarding time for Mickey’s flight to San Francisco and Ian reluctantly let him go, but not before tucking him back into his pants, as Mickey had done the same for him. 

“You go first, I’ll clean up and meet you out there. Gate B12, right?” Ian kept his voice low. Mickey nodded wordlessly and picked his carryon up from where he had discarded it in the corner and Ian moved out of the way to allow him to slip out of the stall. Thankfully, there weren’t many people in the washroom at that point, and Mickey didn’t detect any strange looks or sideways glances as he washed and dried his hands. On his way out, Mickey rapped his knuckles inconspicuously against the side of the stall to let Ian know he was leaving. 

As Mickey exited the washroom amidst a crowd of people and gradually made his way over to the glowing sign that announced his departure gate, he hoped that Ian wouldn’t take too much longer cleaning himself up. The announcement came over the loudspeakers again, informing him that first class would begin boarding in five minutes, and this fact reminded him that his husband had sent him a text and was no doubt awaiting a response. Mickey pulled out his phone and debated whether or not to reply at all. Finally his nerves got the best of him and he typed out a simple “will do”, in response to the request to contact Clyde when he landed. 

Hearing the second announcement, Ian practically ran out of the restroom. He had washed his hands and dried them on his jeans on his way out, craning his neck to look for Mickey. He eventually located him next to the gate, and as soon as Ian was close enough, he grasped Mickey’s hand and yanked him to the side of the sitting area, directly in front of the large floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto the tarmac. 

Mickey was slightly caught off guard by Ian’s rapid approach. He found himself smiling as he was pulled away from the crowd, and turned to see Ian grinning down at him as well. Mickey was hit in that moment by how much he was truly going to miss Ian. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t spent weeks away from each other since their first encounter, however there was something unsettling about not being in the same city, or even the same state as Ian. He’d never felt anything like it before - missing someone before they were even gone. It was the other way around actually. Ian wasn’t going anywhere. Mickey was the one who was leaving. 

Either way, Mickey didn’t know what to do or what to say except to stare at Ian. Wishing he was getting on the plane with him. Wishing he didn’t have to go back to Clyde in two weeks time. 

Ian couldn’t bare to see the sadness in Mickey’s eyes for another minute - he knew if he kept on looking, he’d end up saying something stupid, something neither of them were quite ready for. He brought his hands up to cup Mickey’s face and pulled him into a warm kiss, leaning down to connect their lips softly and immediately opening his mouth for Mickey. 

Perhaps Mickey should have been shocked by the public display of affection. If he’d been thinking straight, he would have rightfully recognized it as yet another risky move in a long chain of risk that dated back to the moment he had offered the pool boy a glass of iced tea. Despite it all, Mickey couldn’t bring himself to think about anything besides Ian, and how the kiss was lighting up his fucking world. And so, Mickey kissed him firmly, digging his fingers into Ian’s sides as if to communicate how much he didn’t want to let go. 

Ian pulled away slowly as the loudspeaker announced that first class had begun boarding. “That’s your call, Mick.” He pressed his lips to Mickey’s forehead before speaking against his skin. “Don’t forget to send me pictures.” Ian rubbed Mickey’s waist gently and then stepped back, giving him enough space to go. 

“Don’t know what sorta pictures you’re expecting…” Mickey winked suggestively, masking his unwillingness to leave. But Ian was right, the plane was boarding, and he had to go. “See ya ‘round, Red.” Mickey took a few steps backward, hefting his bag and forcing himself to turn back to the gate and push forward toward the waiting line of first class passengers.

As Ian watched him go, his eyes widened as remembered one crucial detail that had slipped past both of their radars. “Oh shit, wait!” Ian called out, surging towards the man. “What about your car?” They’d left it in visitor parking, and Mickey had never bothered to get any type of pass to leave it there for two weeks straight. 

Mickey swiveled and patted his pockets, locating the keys he had completely forgotten about and pulling them out. “Shit,” he cursed until his breath, glancing between the keys and Ian before making the inevitable decision. “Here!” Mickey tossed the keys in Ian’s direction. “Don’t scratch ‘er!” He warned playfully. 

Ian’s jaw dropped as he caught the keys easily. “Uh, fuckin’ _WHAT_?!” He held them up, not caring who was staring at them as they yelled at one another, over rows of seats. 

“Have fun man!” Was Mickey’s only response, as he stepped up to the attendant who scanned the boarding pass on the screen of his phone, took a quick peek at his license, and waved him through toward the gate. Just to punctuate the farewell, Mickey gave Ian a little half-wave which melted into the finger after the attendant turned her head to help the next passenger.

Mickey didn’t need his car for the two weeks anyway and he figured someone should have fun with it. Either way, he was happy to let Ian drive it for the time he was gone. Mickey couldn’t believe how close they had gotten in such a short period of time - and yet somehow it felt so natural, just like the universe was aligning or some other mystic shit. 

Mickey knew that his recklessness was reaching idiotic levels. It was ballsy of him to be kissing Ian in such a public place, let Ian drive off with his car, _suck Ian off in the restroom of a high traffic area._ Apparently, now that one person knew about them, all bets were fucking off. 

Clyde could find out. 

_So fucking what_? Mickey thought defiantly. 

*

After Mickey had stowed his carryon under his seat, and settled in beside the window, he checked his phone to see that Ian had texted him a long-winded thank you for leaving him with the car keys. Mickey found it both hysterical and endearing that Ian hadn’t even waited to leave the airport before sending him a message - it really spoke volumes about how far they had come. The men texted back and forth a few times, until a flight attendant came by and politely reminded him to turn off his phone before their departure. Mickey debated tell her to fuck off, but he eventually decided that if there was even a sliver of truth to the shit he’d heard about phones interfering with the plane equipment or something, he didn’t want to be the one responsible for the plane plummeting to earth. So, he said one final goodbye to Ian and begrudgingly turned off his phone. 

He was pleased that his first class ticket had scored him a solitary and comfortable seat, with as many drinks and snacks as he could request. He was sure to passers-by, he would appear to be like any other business man - working away at some boring shit. As soon as the plane took off from the runway and settled into the sky, Mickey pulled his laptop out from his carryon and went to work on his pet project - the choose-your-own-adventure game he had been tinkering away at for a few weeks. He’d only gotten more and more invested in his little creation, and it felt fantastic to be inspired. Mickey had always been creative to some degree, and having an outlet for it was bringing him a satisfaction that he hadn’t expected to find. He knew it was never likely to evolve into more than a hobby anyway, so he was content to just enjoy the process. 

Mickey worked at the game for the entire flight, and he thanked his expensive laptop for being hearty enough to store so much code - it wasn’t every complex, but it was adding up over time. As he guided his protagonist through as many fucked up, text-based situations as he could dream up, Mickey couldn’t seem to stop his mind from wandering. Of course, Ian was foremost amongst his thoughts, as per usual. Yet, the closer he got to his destination, the more he thought about Mandy. As excited as he was to see his sister, Mickey was also apprehensive. He had been trying to figure out how much of his life he was going to let Mandy in on - he wondered how she would react if she found out just how unhappy he was in his marriage, never mind the identity of the man complicit in his torrid affair. 

In fairness, Mickey hadn’t been overly open with his sister over the last few years, especially concerning the bullshit he had to endure. It was fucking embarrassing, even thinking about admitting that he may not have been as thrilled with his new life as he liked to pretend. By the time the plane began its descent, Mickey had all but made up his mind that he would cross that particular bridge whenever - and if ever - he came to it. In the meantime, Mickey was going to enjoy the hell out of his time away from his soul crushing daily routine - even if it fucking killed him.

*

Mandy was waving her arms frantically above the sea of people exiting the automatic doors after baggage claim. Mickey could only see the top of her head, but the ‘Survivor’ tattoo on her wrist was unmistakable. She quickly put her arms down and stole the poster-board sign from Matteo’s hands - the one she’d gone out a specifically purchased glitter glue for - and used it to hide the lower half of her body. On it, written in bright pink bubble letters was “ _Mr. Dickhead_ ”, which looked slightly out of place beside the standard black and white signs held by the actual chauffeurs waiting in the arrivals area. 

“Are you fucking kidding me,” Mickey marveled under his breath, dragging his luggage behind him. It had only been a four hour flight and he was two hours ahead of Chicago time, but Mickey felt exhausted. He’d barely had the patience to stand and wait at the baggage carousel for the suitcases and lug them to what felt like the other end of the airport. It was as if all the stress of the last few years of his marriage, and the last month in particular was suddenly registering in his body now that he was slightly removed for the tension of it. 

Still, Mickey couldn’t help but smile and shake his head in disbelief at Mandy’s very on-brand display of bitchiness. 

_God_ , he had missed his sister. 

“You look awful fuckin’ proud of yourself over there,” Mickey commented at he got closer to Mandy and Matteo. The man looked just as mild mannered and friendly as he had last time Mickey had seen him, waving cooly as he approached. Mickey sped up the last few steps and swooped in to hug Mandy, after she had passed Matteo the sign at the last possible second. Mandy was the only other family member he had ever hugged besides his mother in all his life - and the two youngest Milkoviches had always hugged harder and even more violently than they’d fought. 

This time, however, Mickey stopped himself from hauling Mandy up off the ground and shaking her around - his sister felt a little more solid than she had last time, and the slight protrusion of her belly was undeniable. 

Mickey pulled away quickly and stumbled back, gaping at Mandy. 

“Holy fuck, you’re-”

“If you say fat, I’m gonna level you right here, right now.” Mandy glared at her brother, although Mickey could tell that for once, she was much more bark than bite.

Mickey couldn’t take his eyes off of the swell of Mandy’s stomach. Not even to roll his eyes. “Fuck off, that’s not what I was gonna- _shit_ .” He huffed and took a step closer to her, feeling like he wanted to burst into tears all of a sudden, which he wouldn’t do, because he wasn’t a _pussy_. “You’re, like, really knocked up, huh?!”

“Yeah I am, with this asshole’s kid.” Mandy looked over at her husband and elbowed his arm. “We have an appointment tomorrow to find out if it’s a boy or a girl, and you can bet your ass you’ll be coming with.” She was taking great pleasure at her brother’s reaction - she had been expecting surprise, but he looked ready to fucking cry.

[ ](https://ibb.co/2g0XCgm)

“Hey man, lemme take your luggage.” Matteo stepped up to take a suitcase from Mickey. 

“Yeah, let’s go, loser. You can stare at my baby bump all the way home if you want.” Mandy fanned herself with her hand and rubbed at her belly. “I need some fucking A/C.” 

Mickey was so wrapped up in trying to get over the shock of seeing his sister _pregnant_ , that he actually let Matteo take his carryon and one suitcase from him- but not before greeting him with a fist bump, as was customary when saying hello to the brother-in-law he’d only ever met a few times. “The phone works both ways ya know.” Mickey pointed out as he followed the couple through the complex airport. “You didn’t think to call me up and tell me I’m gonna be an uncle? You’ve obviously known for...what?” Mickey gestured to Mandy’s bump. “About six months at this point?!” 

“I wanted to tell you after the first trimester, but then it got tough… you don’t even want to know the details of what’s going on inside my body. It’s a fuckin’ horror show.” Mandy pulled a face and lightly held the bottom of her stomach as they finally escaped out into the underground parking. Ahead of them, Matteo turned around and nodded vigorously, agreeing with the statement. 

“I am sorry, though, for not telling you sooner.” She added softly. Mandy took in her brother's appearance now that they were away from the crowds. He looked much more polished than he had ever been as a teenager. With his clean clothes, gelled hair, and expensive luggage set, no one would have ever guessed that he had been raised up by a pack of wolves like the Milkovich clan. Yet, Mandy couldn’t avoid noticing how tired he looked despite his smile - the bags under his eyes and his five o’clock shadow gave away more than he was willing to reveal on his own. 

“I mean… don’t sweat it, it’s just… _wow_.” Mickey couldn’t stop grinning, and he bumped his sister's shoulder with his own. “Now I know what the two of you have been up to since you tied the knot, huh?” He joked. 

“You fuckin’ know it,” Mandy snorted, causing Matteo to blush and chuckle. “And this one was actually, like, planned and shit. He asked me how I’d feel about having a baby and, well... here we are. So different from the bastards back home, always tryna pump and dump- am I right?” 

Mickey grimaced, knowing exactly what she was referring to. Mandy had been through a lot growing up - in very different ways than Mickey. Very different, but just as fucked up. The idea that Mandy was happy and excited for this next chapter of her life gave Mickey a bit of hope for his own.

Just then, the wry smile fell from Mandy’s face as she grunted, glaring daggers down at her stomach. “Fuck _me_. It won’t stop kicking today.” She rubbed the spot where her baby had just attacked. 

“Yeah well, like mother, like fetus,” Mickey chuckled antagonistically, happy to see that the BMW they were headed for was parked close by. 

Mandy flipped him off. “Wish it was kicking you instead.” She opened the passenger door when they got to the car and climbed into her comfortable leather seat, which was already reclined back just the way she liked. 

Mickey shared a knowing look with Matteo as they loaded up the trunk with Mickey’s luggage. Mickey didn’t know a lot about the guy - he was pretty quiet most of the time. But he knew that Matteo had to have a nearly bottomless well of patience to put up with a _pregnant_ Mandy. Mickey clapped his brother-in-law on the back supportively before skirting the side of the car and clambering into the back seat. He took a moment to turn on his phone and send Clyde a short text stating that he’d arrived. Hopefully it would be one of the few times he’d have to think about his husband over the next two weeks. 

“What do you want for dinner?” Mandy yawned, taking off her shoes and putting her feet up on the dashboard. “I’m always starving because of the kid. You better not say anything gross like seafood, or I’m gonna aim for you when I fuckin’ blow chunks.” 

“When the fuck have I ever wanted to eat seafood?” Mickey asked, screwing up his face in disgust. He thumbed at the screen of his phone, switching over to texting Ian, and immediately feeling a shade lighter. 

Mickey (3:57): _hey, just letting u know I made it_

Mickey contemplated telling Ian about the pregnancy, but decided it was a subject for later. He didn’t receive a response right away, but Mandy and Matteo kept him thoroughly entertained with stories about the passing landscape and anecdotes about the trials and tribulations of the pregnancy thus far. 

By the time Ian answered, Mickey was in the midst of heated debate with Mandy about whether to get Taco Bell or Burger King for dinner, and so he neglected to read the response. 

Ian (4:30): _Sorry I was taking a nap cause my boyfriend kept me busy this morning._

Ian (4:30): _Glad you made it there safe._

Ian (4:31): _Tell Mandy I say hi._

Ian propped himself up against the armrest of his sofa and froze after he sent the message. He didn’t know if Mickey was even planning to tell his sister about the whole situation, let alone about their secret relationship. It had been a big assumption for him to make.

Ian (4:33): _Or don’t._

Ian (4:35): _Just so you know, it’s okay if you don’t want to tell her about us. Ignore my last text._

Ian bit the inside of his cheek as he waited pensively for Mickey to confirm what page he was on, so that Ian could join him there. 

What if Mickey was ashamed to tell his sister about Clyde being a douchebag? Did she already know, or would it be news to her?

What if Mickey was ashamed of _him_? 

The thought was a little ridiculous, even Ian had to admit. He knew if he went to his bedroom window and looked out, he would be able to see Mickey’s car parked on the sidewalk, where he had left it after driving it home from the airport. He felt confident leaving it out there for just one night, despite the questionable safety of the neighborhood, just until he could get a temporary parking pass in his building's garage. The stand alone fact that Mickey had trusted him enough to hand over his car for the weekend should have been enough to convince Ian that Mickey wasn’t just fooling around him. And yet, the thought buzzed around the inside of his skull like a persistent horsefly, slowly driving him mad. 

Staring at his phone for nearly half an hour only served to make Ian increasingly anxious, and invite a whole host of intrusive thoughts to have a fucking rager in his head. Eventually, Ian rolled over and somehow went back to sleep, resigning himself to the fact that there was nothing he could do but wait.

*

When Ian woke up from his nap, the first thing he felt were the pangs of hunger stabbing at his gut. He groaned, rolled over, and checked his phone. The first thing he noticed was that there were no new messages from Mickey. The second thing he noticed was that it was slightly passed the time he would normally have dinner. He hadn’t eaten since the airport feast that morning, and so his hunger made perfect sense - even still, he resented the idea of having to pull himself up from the warmth of his bed. 

Once Ian forced himself out into the kitchen and rummaged through his fridge for something nutritious to have for dinner. Eventually, he made his decision and threw some sweet potatoes in the oven, before he began marinating chicken to bake afterwards. He had decided to try and get back into the groove of healthy eating - he’d been slipping lately and it left him feeling a little off balance. 

Ian glanced down at his phone, which sat on the counter, as he washed the chicken seasoning off of his hands. Still no messages. 

Maybe his diet wasn’t the only thing making him off balance. 

When Mickey had first told him about the trip, Ian had been confused. He was immediately suspicious of Clyde’s intentions - it seemed a little too generous given the tension that Mickey had been describing between the pair for weeks beforehand. But, Mickey seemed to feel that it was a safe enough offer to accept, and Ian had learned to not even attempt to tell Mickey what to do when it came to his husband. It was better if he just let Mickey be excited, and kept his opinions to himself.

Ian had booked himself solid for the next two weeks. Between picking up extra shifts at the station, to booking a few more weekend pool cleaning gigs than he had in awhile, Ian knew he was going to be exhausted when all was said and done - yet anything was better than sitting around his apartment in his downtime, self-indulgently missing his boyfriend.

Just as Ian was sliding the pan of chicken into the oven, his phone began buzzing against the counter, and he scrambled to get to it in time. He slammed the oven door a bit harder than he intended and pinched one oven mitt between his teeth to yank it off of his hand, tossing it onto the counter. By the time he had his phone in his grasp, Ian had to admit he was a little disappointed that it wasn’t Mickey’s name on the display. Rather, it was Lip calling him. Ian swallowed thickly and answered the phone. 

“Hey, sup?” Ian inquired, and his lack of enthusiasm was a bit too obvious for his brother to ignore. 

“Jesus, dude, sounds like your fuckin’ goldfish just bit the dust or something,” Lip chuckled on the other end. Ian could hear his voice echoing a bit, and the distance hum of people talking, and so he assumed Lip was out shopping somewhere, perhaps pushing Freddy around a grocery store in his stroller. “You alright?” 

Ian pressed the phone between his shoulder and his cheek just long enough to rip the other oven-mitt off. He put his brother on speakerphone so that he could set a timer on his phone - lest he burn the chicken to a fucking crisp. “Yeah I’m fine. Just woke up from a nap.” Ian forced out an exaggerated yawn in order to make it more believable. “What are you up to?” 

“Just pickin up some shit Tami forgot last time she was out.” Lip replied, confirming Ian’s suspicions that he was shopping. 

“Riveting.” Ian hummed absently, closing out the apps on his phone before lingering on the conversation with Mickey for a few seconds, willing a text to come through at that moment. 

“Alright jackass, like your life is so fucking exciting,” Lip growled. “Speaking of excitement, you comin’ over to the house tomorrow night? Debs needs someone to watch Franny while she does one of those overnight welding gigs, and I thought we could get the kids together and invite Amy and Gemma - make it a real Gallagher party. You in?” 

“Fuck man, I can’t,” Ian sighed. “I took a bunch of extra shifts for the next two weeks, tomorrow nights all booked up.” 

“Are you that strapped for cash?” Lip countered. “What’s so special about the next two weeks?” 

Ian hesitated. He and Lip had only talked sparingly about Mickey and the affair since Ian had first admitted it to his brother. They tiptoed around the subject - it wasn’t as if Lip thought Ian was a piece of shit or anything, yet it was just an awkward topic just by virtue of the subject matter. 

“Hello? Did my shitty phone drop the call again?” 

“No,” Ian huffed, “I’m still here.” 

“Well then, answer my question.” Lip demanded. 

Ian leaned against his kitchen counter and let out a long, drawn out breath. “Mickey’s gone for the next two weeks. _Clyde_ bought him a ticket to San Francisco to visit his sister.”

The sound of squeaking wheels came to a halt and Ian could hear the cashier asking Lip if he wanted plastic or paper. “His sister,” Lip repeated. “As in Mandy?” 

“Yes, Mandy,” Ian confirmed, “He’s only got the one.” 

“Shit, she’s all the out in San Fran now? Wonder why?” Lip mused softly. Ian thought it best not to mention to his brother that his old fling was now married and doing just fine - it was knowledge Lip could go without. 

“No idea,” Ian shrugged. He heard a beep as each of Lip’s items was scanned by the cashier. 

“So what’s her take on this whole situation?” Lip asked, “You know, the whole, you fucking her married brother thing.” 

Ian felt his chest tighten, like ribs were suddenly twice the size and pressing in on his heart and lungs. “Dunno. I don’t think he’s told her yet.” 

Lip was quiet for a long moment. Just as Ian prepared himself to ask if Lip’s phone actually did drop the call this time, his brother spoke.

“So that’s why you’re in a fucking mood, huh?”

“I’m not in a mood!” Ian barked. Shit, maybe he was in a mood. He hadn’t really noticed until that moment. “I told him it was okay if he didn’t want to tell her. He doesn’t have to tell her. It’s fine.” Ian tried not to sound like was attempting to convince himself.

“Doesn’t sound fine.” Lip shot back. 

Ian placed his phone on the counter and folded his arms. “I mean, eventually I would like her to know. I guess it’s not that big of a deal right now.”

“Ian,” The tone of Lip’s voice shifted, and Ian could just tell that his older brother was about to impart some sage advice - or at least try to. “It’s okay if you don’t want to be kept a secret.” He sounded a little distant, breathing heavily like he was loading things into the back of his car.

“I obviously know that,” Ian grunted. “I’m just trying not to pressure him. God knows he gets enough of that from _Clyde_.” 

“What about how you feel?” The sound of the engine of Lip’s car turning over and starting nearly drowned out the question.

“If you’re trying to imply that he doesn’t care about how I feel, go fuck yourself.” Ian spat. 

“You’re putting words in my mouth again, dipshit.” Lip sighed. “You know what I’m trying to say here.” 

Ian found himself staring off into space, focusing on nothing in particular. He did know what Lip was saying. It was all part of the battle going on inside of his brain. He knew he was assuming a lot based on the fact that Mickey hadn’t yet answered his texts from earlier. He didn’t actually know how Mickey felt about telling Mandy. 

Ian was pulled back to reality when he heard the unmistakable sound of Freddy beginning to whimper. “Listen man, I gotta go okay? Pretty sure Fred just filled his fuckin’ diaper, and I gotta get home quick and change him before he get another rash.” Lip let out a comforting hush, attempting to soothe his collicky son. “If you need me, just call, alright?” 

“Thanks man, talk to you later.” Ian nodded and disconnected the call. The minute the line went dead, hung his head and let out a loud groan - one that no doubt concerned his neighbors in the surrounding apartments. 

Ian felt more torn than ever now. He hoped Mickey would get back to him soon, even just to confirm that he hadn’t said anything wrong. He hadn’t had the chance to run his cringey texts past his brother, so all he could do was sit and overthink. 

Perhaps keeping himself ridiculously busy over the next two weeks would be just what he needed to stop his thoughts from going down such a self-destructive path. 

*

By the time they pulled into the parking garage of the apartment complex, Mickey had grown tired of Mandy’s flip flopping and all parties decided upon ordering pizza - one small plain cheese for Mandy and an extra large meat-lover for Mickey and Matteo to split. In the span of an hour long car ride, Mickey was reminded all at once why he missed his sister so much and why it was probably a good thing that he and Mandy went their separate ways in life. 

Still, he would never admit how much he enjoyed bickering with his sibling - it made him feel at home, despite being over 2,000 miles away from the place that he was born and raised. 

Mandy was too lazy to try and put her shoes back on so she simply held them in her hand as she got out of the car and started walking towards the elevators. “The baby is sitting on my fuckin’ bladder right now, so I gotta go piss before I pop like a goddamn water balloon. You two gonna be okay?” She called over her shoulder. 

“I think we’ll manage, babe,” Matteo snickered, pressing the button to pop open the trunk. 

“Try not to piss yourself!” Mickey hollered encouragingly, circling around to the trunk to grab his bags, and he cackled when Mandy flipped him the bird with her unoccupied hand as the elevator doors closed. 

Matteo soon joined him and took some luggage once more without Mickey asking for help. “You two have such an interesting way of communicating,” Matteo commented, locking the car once Mickey had slammed the trunk. 

“Yeah well,” Mickey shrugged. “If she wasn’t my sister, I’d strangle her.” Both he and Matteo knew it was said with love, but Mickey was only partially kidding. 

“She’s actually a lot more agreeable now that she’s pregnant.” Matteo admitted as they wheeled the luggage towards the elevator. “Which is not how that usually works, I’m aware. Figures Mandy would do things her own way.” 

They only had to wait for a moment, before the elevator arrived and both men shuffled inside. “So a _baby_ , huh?” Mickey raised his eyebrows at Matteo. The statement was simple but the question was implied. 

“Yeah. She’s my family. Wanted to make our family bigger.” Matteo replied, more calmly than he felt. He was wary of Mickey’s reaction. “I love her. Love the baby. It’s love from all corners around here, man.” 

It was a good answer. It was sickeningly sweet, but Mickey could just tell it was heartfelt. Mandy had always craved that type of devotion and she had looked for it in every man she’d ever given a chance - some of whom, in Mickey’s opinion, didn’t deserve to breathe the same fucking air as his sister. He knew it seemed soft of him, but the idea that Mandy had finally found her person brought Mickey a great sense of relief. 

“Ya know, if you said that to any other member of my family they’d probably call you a gigantic pussy and then beat the ever loving shit outta you.” Mickey observed. “But honestly, having a rugrat to look after sounds like a good thing for you guys.” He cleared his throat and faced towards the elevator door as they rose up several floors, unable to look Matteo in the eye. 

“Your family is something else.” Matteo chuckled, recalling all of the _lovely_ interactions he’d had with Mandy’s brothers besides Mickey - the ones who decided to show up at the wedding mostly as an excuse to get hammered. They were loud and wild, but they cared for one another in a primal sort of way, and that was the important part as far as Matteo was concerned. “And thanks! We’re excited as hell, even if Mandy doesn’t seem too thrilled right now. We started setting up a nursery already. I actually want a couple more, but I’m not sure Mandy’s gonna be totally on board for more than one, after everything she’s gone through already.” Matteo held the elevator doors open for Mickey to step off first. 

“Yeah, good luck when you run that one past her, man.” Mickey quipped over his shoulder as he walked, stopping for a minute when he realized Matteo actually needed to lead the way. Mickey had never been to this apartment before - they’d been living in a different one the last time he had visited. This apartment was much fancier than their previous one, and Mickey had to give props to Mandy and her husband for busting their asses for several years to achieve what they had. It was one thing to marry rich - but it took some real grit to be successful at a legal, government approved, nine to five. Mickey wasn’t sure if he’d ever have it in him. 

“What, you don’t want a couple of kids?” Matteo questioned. He knew Mickey was married to a wealthy dentist, therefore they could no doubt afford a personal nanny for as many kids as they decided to either adopt or engineer - the whole nine yards. “I was an only child, and I always wanted a brother. Hell, I would have even taken a sister!” He led Mickey down a hall with only two units on it. He unlocked the door to the one on the left and motioned for Mickey to enter. 

The thought of having a child with Clyde turned Mickey’s stomach instantly. It was a revolting concept. Not only was it hard to imagine himself as a parent, but it was even harder to imagine subjecting a child to the constant mind-fuckery that was his husband's mode of _communication_ . Mickey knew what it was like growing up with unfit parents, and although Clyde wasn’t physically aggressive - he knew emotional and psychological abuse would never be off the table. It was bad enough they owned animals together, let alone _children_. 

“Nah man, don’t think it’s in the cards for me,” Mickey replied honestly. “Think I’ll be a kick ass uncle though…” He grinned wickedly, and he was sure by the way Matteo glanced at him that the man took it as the threat he intended it to be. 

Matteo put Mickey’s luggage to the side in the hallway and went back to lock the door. “So you don’t want kids at all? Cards can change. I thought I was going to be be a bachelor for the rest of my life - even contemplated going on the fucking show, but then I met Mandy.” He shrugged and passed Mickey on the way to the kitchen. “You want anything? Soda? Beer?” 

“Beer sounds fuckin’ great right now,” Mickey nodded appreciatively, hoping whatever Matteo would bring him wouldn’t be some sort of artisanal bullshit. He decided to make himself at home, kicking off his boots and walking straight into the open-plan living room, settling into the comfy looking sofa facing the balcony. “Clyde’s heading towards retirement. Don’t think he’d have the patience to chase after kids at this point.” He answered, praying that Matteo would get the hint and drop the subject. Mickey glanced around the room - it was clean and bright and felt like a home - a far cry from the homestead on Trumbull Ave. 

“Oh god, I can’t even imagine that man babysitting.” Mandy was already laughing as she entered the room, still barefoot, but now in her pajamas, despite it being the middle of the afternoon. Comfort was clearly her main concern, and Mickey couldn’t exactly blame her. She waddled over and sat down next to Mickey on the couch. She made a squeaky kissing noise, and a second later a small brown rabbit, Thumper, came flying out from under the opposite sofa, hopping up into Mandy’s lap. 

Suddenly, Matteo was at Mickey’s shoulder, handing him a beer, before passing off a bottle of water for Mandy, which she gladly accepted. “Remind me when we’re sleep deprived in nine months not to ask him to babysit then.” He joked.

Mickey snorted derisively but kept his mouth shut. He knew for a fact that even if he and his husband lived close enough, Clyde would be thoroughly uninterested in babysitting.

“How is he?” Mandy asked as she opened her water and chugged half of it on the spot, before back to petting the bunny snuggled against her thighs.

Mickey eyed the rabbit up and down. The little thing looked innocent enough curled in Mandy’s lap, but he knew that it would turn on him without a second thought if he tried to pet it. Mandy had gotten him a few years ago and on Mickey’s last visit the little shit bit him the first chance it got. 

“Huh?” Mickey muttered, before realizing who Mandy was asking about. “Clyde? He’s… fine.” He didn’t mean to leave such a lengthy pause between his words, and he hoped it didn’t give away more than he intended. 

Mandy snorted and stretched her feet out on the ottoman. “If you say so.”

Mickey cracked open his beer and took a sip, slurping loudly to cover the fact that he didn’t know how to respond. 

“So! How about we order that pizza!” Matteo suggested jovially, and Mickey could have sworn the guy knew what he was doing. 

Mickey slammed his beer down on the end table, thankful for the distraction. “Fuck yeah, man! Someone gimme a number to call!” 

*

After an evening of catching up and recalling memories of years gone by, Mandy had eaten her last slice of pizza before heading to bed. Mickey had agreed to accompany them to the ultrasound appointment the very next day, and Mandy decided to turn in early so she could be up in time to shower and make herself presentable enough to leave the house by noon. 

She’d actually given Mickey another hug before she’d gone, which surprised Mickey to no end. He had assumed Mandy had reached her quota for the day, but apparently he was mistaken.

“Glad you’re here, asshat.” Mandy mumbled affectionately into his shoulder. 

“Me too, dick breath.” Mickey responded in kind. “Now go get some shuteye before you have to get up and waddle around all day tomorrow.” He braced himself just in time for the swift punch to the shoulder he received from the comment. 

Matteo had offered to play some video games with Mickey and so they’d been at it for a few hours, switching between PUBG, Call of Duty, and even a few rounds of Fortnite when they got _really_ tired of everything else. It was very relaxing, Mickey had to admit. He hadn’t thought about Clyde until he felt his phone buzz in his pocket, shattering his composure. 

When he checked his phone, Mickey realized that it had been hours since he’d last paid attention to it, and he had more notifications than he thought he would. Firstly, he did have a message from Clyde, which he barely read, but he got the jist. _Stay in touch, blah blah, have fun, blah blah…_ Mickey didn’t really give a shit. There were a few messages from Ian: 

Ian (4:30): _Sorry I was taking a nap cause my boyfriend kept me busy this morning._

Ian (4:30): _Glad you made it there safe._

Ian (4:31): _Tell Mandy I say hi._

Ian (4:33): _Or don’t._

Ian (4:35): _Just so you know, it’s okay if you don’t want to tell her about us. Ignore my last text._

In fact the most recent text had been received about a minute ago.

Ian (10:59): _night Mick. Hope you’re having fun with Mandy_ ❤️

Mickey had no way of knowing, but Ian had contemplated adding a heart for about ten minutes straight before he decided to stop being a pussy and just add it in. Not only was he quadruple texting, but the message sounded annoying without it. He really didn’t want to bother Mickey, but he had the uncontrollable urge to let his boyfriend know he was thinking about him before he passed out. 

There was something about the stupid little emoji that set Mickey’s actual heart racing a mile a minute. He read and reread this first few messages, and he could practically feel Ian’s apprehension seeping through the screen - he could see that Ian was trying to respect boundaries and shit, but the last thing Mickey wanted was for Ian to feel like he was nothing but Mickey’s dirty little secret. The issue was, he still hadn’t decided whether or not now was the right time to reveal their relationship to Mandy. Mickey wasn’t over the fact that Alice definitely knew something and he was still trying to process the implications. 

Mickey (11:01): _Shit sorry, just seeing these now._

Mickey (11:02): _Night red. I’ll ft you tomorrow._

Mickey (11:02): ❤️ 

He somehow felt like he owed the little red heart to Ian after keeping him waiting for so long. It was Mickey’s way of letting Ian know that he wasn’t ignoring the topic - they would simply have to hash it out later, when Mickey finally decided what to do.

“You good, dude?” The sound of Matteo’s voice right next to him jolted Mickey out of his trance. He had forgotten that Matteo had paused the game to go grab a leftover slice of pizza from the kitchen, and apparently Mickey had been so preoccupied with Ian’s texts that he hadn’t noticed the man return.

“Oh, uh… yeah.” Mickey nodded, pocketing his phone and snatching up the xbox controller from the arm rest. Matteo simply smiled and unpaused the game, going back to the character selection screen of Mortal Kombat. 

And although Mickey’s mind was a million miles away, and he proceeded to lose every single match they played, Matteo didn’t say a word. Mickey clearly had a lot going on, but Matteo knew it was really not his place to pry. His brother-in-law would come clean when he was ready. Or not. Either way, Matteo decided to enjoy winning while he could. 

*

## Saturday Morning

When Ian woke up the next morning, the first thing he did was reach for his phone. His entire body warmed up when he saw that Mickey had responded to him. The fact that Mickey had returned the heart emoji reassured him and flooded him with happiness - the kind that only Mickey could seem to evoke lately.

Ian (8:30): _Morning Mick. I’ve got a few pool cleanings lined up today but I’ll be free tonight, if you are_

Mickey heard his phone sound off from under his pillow. He had been set up in the guest bedroom, which was currently in the process of being turned into a nursery. When he pried his eyes open, the first thing Mickey saw was the unassembled crib leaning in the corner, and the fact that Mandy was fucking _pregnant_ came back to him all at one. 

Rolling over, Mickey scavenged under the pillow for his phone and squinted at the screen. Even in his half-awake state, Mickey smiled widely upon seeing the text. 

Mickey (6:33): _morning_

Mickey (6:34): _wait ur actually a poolboy? I thought that was just the excuse u used to get in my pants_

Ian laughed wholeheartedly and rolled his eyes at the text. 

Ian (8:34): _yes you idiot, for last time, i’m a fuckin poolboy._

Ian (8:34): _I definitely didn’t need a scheme to get into your pants. Just needed to fight you apparently_

Mickey (6:35): _yeah well I’m still tryna figure out how u knew violence makes me horny_ 😉

Ian (8:35): _You’re southside. It would be weird if you weren’t into a little rough stuff._

Ian (8:35): _now the breaking things…_

Ian (8:35): _I have a feeling you might be into BDSM too_

Mickey (6:36): _Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not._

Mickey (6:37): _Guess we’ve got some shit to try out when I get back huh?_

Ian (8:39): _You proposing what I think you are? Cause I got a couple of things I wanna try._

Mickey sat up slightly on the stiff mattress and scratched at his stomach. With the light streaming in through the translucent curtains on the floor to ceiling window, the room looked very different than it had when he’d stumbled through the darkness into the bed the night before. Now, in addition to the pieces of the crib, there were also unopened cans of paint, folded tarps and a mobile laying on the floor, waiting to be hung. He remembered Mandy’s appointment and that he was going to find out whether he was expecting a niece or a nephew at some point that day - something he had not been anticipating on the flight there. 

He wanted to tell Ian, but he thought maybe now wasn’t the appropriate time. 

Mickey (6:40): _how about u go take a fuckin cold shower, man, sounds like u need one_

Mickey (6:41): _I’m about to go have one myself_

Ian (8:41): _How about you make me?_

Ian (8:42): _Or you could ft me now and let me watch you shower._

Mickey (6:43): _Ur a fuckin perv, u know that?_

Mickey (6:44) _Tonight. I promise._

Ian (8:45): _Fine, fine. I’ll go shower. But also, asking for a reigncheck on sex is not like you... You feelin’ okay?_ 😂

Mickey (6:46): _Jesus Christ yes of course_ 🙄 

Ian (8:46): _not gonna tell me how funny I am today? I’m hurt_

Mickey (6:47): _gotta say something funny first_

Ian (8:47): _fuck you_ 😑 _I’m gonna go jack off and not think about you_

Mickey (6:48): _as if, Gallagher_

It was then that Mickey registered a delicious smell wafting through the crack he’d left in the door - definitely bacon and eggs. If he concentrated he could hear the sizzle coming from the frypan all the way in the kitchen. His stomach growled and he decided to get up, fish some sweats out of his suitcase and investigate. 

When he entered the living room the scent of _breakfast_ became overwhelming. Mandy was sitting on the couch with her feet on the coffee table and her plate balanced on her extended belly, watching some sort of true crime documentary despite it being way too early for such disturbing material. Mickey could see directly into the kitchen, where Matteo was poised in front of the stove, scrolling through his phone and occasionally flipping over strips of bacon in a pan. 

Mandy turned upon hearing Mickey approach, and smiled at her brother, before leaning her head back on the couch to yell to her husband. 

“See? Told ya if you started cooking bacon he’d get his ass right up!” She smirked at Mickey, and only flinched slightly when he responded by reaching over and flicking her in the forehead. 

“Morning, tubby.” Mickey hummed and snickered when she reached out an arm to swat at him. 

In the kitchen, Matteo was scooping scrambled eggs and a heaping helping of crispy bacon onto a plate, and Mickey accepted it with a grin before returning to the couch and parking himself beside his sister. 

They talked as they ate, neither sibling bothering to chew or swallow before they spoke, even when Matteo joined them with his own plate. Mickey was briefly reminded how much Clyde despised when he spoke with his mouth full, and the thought only spurred him on to do it more grotesquely, given that he was free of the dictatorship he faced at home. 

He and Mandy caught up, bit by bit, insult after insult. They talked about Chicago and work and life and even their family - but sparingly. After he had cleaned his plate, Mickey happened to glance down at his phone screen, and nearly choked on his last bite of scrambled egg. 

Ian had sent him a salacious mirror selfie. He had a towel around his waist and his soaking hair was falling down over his eyes - the smirk on his lips was undeniable. Mickey could see the water beading on his skin, illuminating the swell of each muscle, and he wondered how the the fuck Ian could make his skin glow like that. 

Ian (9:20): _You know, you’d get to see me like this more often if you’d let me teach you how to swim_.

Mickey felt his mouth go instantly dry and he quickly angled his phone away from his sister as casually as he could, readjusting himself in his seat. He picked up his plate and headed back to the kitchen to rinse it off in the sink, nearly walking into a wall because he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of the picture. The very sight of it made him want to drop everything, run to the nearest bathroom and facetime Ian. It took everything in him to resist the impulse. By the time he made it back to the couch and took a seat, he was sure his face was flushed.

To top things off, Mandy kept on glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, confirming for him that he did indeed appear at least a little suspicious. He tried to ignore the attention until Mandy finally broke down and said something. “The hell happened? You look like you just saw a fuckin’ ghost.” She questioned. 

“None of your business, bitch.” Mickey grumbled. 

“You know you’re gonna tell me anyways so you might as well just spit it out.” She shrugged and pretended to be disinterested as she looked back to the tv. Either Mickey would tell her now, or she’d lock him in the car with her until he told her. He’d never been able to keep his secrets around his sister for long - which was precisely how she was the first person on that planet to know that he was gay, besides himself of course. 

Ian waited for a response as he changed into his company uniform, but he couldn’t delay too long. He had to go across town, temporarily exchange the Lambo for the company pick up truck, and then get to the client’s home on time. He wasn’t dealing with a client like Mickey this time - he was certain there were no other clients like Mickey, not for him at least. Ian sent another text on his way out the door, feeling a little strange that Mickey had seen the message and not responded. 

Ian (9:49): _Okay that was a douchey thing to send, but it was just to let you know that I did jack off to thoughts of you._

As Ian climbed into the driver's seat of the car - Mickey’s car - and watched as the passing pedestrians gave him strange looks. The luxury car was horribly out of place in his neighborhood, and Ian wasn’t about to forget it any time soon. Ian grasped the wheel and took a deep breath. He needed to calm down and somehow stop his thoughts from getting the best of him.

Ian (9:49): _Gotta go to work. Pools aren’t gonna clean themselves._

Ian (9:49): _I’ll see you tonight :)_

*

Mickey had never imagined that he’d be seated on a plush hospital chair beside Matteo, watching a doctor spreading some sort of gunk all over his sister's stomach, yet there he was, and it was all happening before his very eyes. 

“Jesus Christ… I feel like I shouldn’t be seein’ this shit.” Mickey grunted, averting his eyes slightly as the doctor pulled Mandy’s jeans down slightly lower on her hips to keep on spreading the gel. 

“Quit bein’ a fuckin’ baby. I already got one being a pain in my ass right now, don’t need another one.” Mandy flipped him off, making the doctor blush. She often forgot that not everyone was used to the aggressive way she and her family communicated - not that either she or Mickey particularly cared. 

Mickey resisted the temptation to engage with his sister, who was clearly extra cranky because of the uncomfortable position she was in. “You sure you want me in here, man?” Mickey leaned over in his seat, directing the question to Matteo. “I can wait out in the hall if you-.”

“Shut up, dude,” Matteo chuckled, and the response made Mickey respect him even more. “Look away if you want, but you’re gonna wanna see when the doc gets the kid up on the big screen.” He pointed to the monitor. 

“Are you ready?” The doctor asks Mandy quietly, holding the ultrasound instrument in one hand, the other poised on the top of Mandy’s belly. 

Mandy took a deep breath and nodded. “Lay it on me, doc. Tell me what we’re havin’!” 

“Well… first we’re gonna take a few pictures of the baby for you to take home.” She pointed out the baby’s head and hands on the monitor as she took a few photos. Mickey watched as Mandy followed along as the doctor narrated each movement, wide eyed and hopeful. He could feel her excitement, even from across the room - not to mention Matteo was virtually vibrating in his seat. Mickey soaked up each bit of information he received - of course he didn’t understand the technical jargon, however it didn’t take ten years of medical school to understand that the little life inside of Mandy appeared to be healthy and happy, growing at the correct rate for a six month old fetus. 

“Alright…” The doctor finished listening to the baby’s strong heartbeat and removed her stethoscope, hanging the device around her neck. The moment of truth had arrived. “It looks like you’re having... a baby girl!” She smiled at Mandy as she shared the exciting news. 

Matteo had jumped out of his seat before the doctor could even congratulate them, and ran to Mandy’s side as her eyes inevitably welled up with tears. He knew she’d wanted a daughter, and the news was both thrilling and overwhelming. He wrapped his arm around his wife’s shoulders and pressed his lips to hers gently. “A baby girl!” Matteo hummed as he wiped away a few of the tears already trickling down Mandy’s cheeks. “Mands, we’re having a little baby girl!” 

Mickey felt his heartbeat in his entire body as he watched the happy scene unfold. Matteo was holding Mandy and rocking her back and forth and Mickey just knew they were both crying. Mickey sniffed and thumbed his nose, feeling his own eyes getting a bit misty of their own volition. He was going to have a fucking _niece_. 

“Mick! Come look!” Mandy gasped through a sob, motioning frantically for Mickey to get up out of his seat and join them in looking at the monitor. 

Mickey obliged, although he felt weak at the knees. The screen looked like a mish-mash of grey and white blotches, but in the middle Mickey could just make out the little form, moving and breathing and _living_. 

“Holy shit,” Mickey hissed, leaning against the table to steady himself. He’d never seen anything like it. 

Mandy opened her eyes and wiped at them before attempting to smile at her brother. “You’re gonna be an _uncle_ to my _daughter_ . Holy _fuck_ , Mick.” She was in genuine awe, and all Mickey could do was to rub at her shoulders and nod in agreement. 

Holy _fuck_ , indeed. 

Matteo was still clamped around Mandy, holding on for dear life, watching the screen as the doctor took two more photos and then turned the machine off to start cleaning the gel off of Mandy’s stomach. Mickey practically had to pry the man off of his wife to let the doctor do her job, and when he suggested that Matteo might want to step out of the room for a second to compose himself, Matteo simply nodded weakly and followed behind his brother-in-law. Matteo and Mickey moved out into the hall together, and if they saw the wetness in each other’s eyes, neither of them mentioned it. Mickey gave him a hard pat on the back and then nodded as he cleared his throat awkwardly. 

“Congrats on having working sperm, man.” Mickey couldn’t help but make the offensive joke. He was so desperate to distract from the emotions peeking through the surface that it was easier to say something foolish. Nobody got to see Mickey that way. Not except Ian, as of late. Clyde may have weaseled his way under the first layer of Mickey’s emotional armor, but Ian had completely removed it. Now, he was choking up over a baby for fucks sake. 

Not just any baby. 

My _niece_ , Mickey reminded himself.

Matteo hadn’t even heard Mickey’s wildly inappropriate joke. He was too busy steadying himself against the nearest wall and sucking air into his lungs. Mickey watched as Matteo rubbed furiously at his eye sockets with the heels of his hand, before lifting his head with a wet chuckle.

“I have a _daughter_.” Matteo choked out. 

Mickey found himself marveling at how fucking lucky the kid was - before she even popped out into the universe. 

*

It had been hours and Mickey hadn’t responded to Ian’s obvious thirst trap. He finished his job with the last client’s pool and denied any form of refreshments from the nice woman in favor of going home, taking another shower, and waiting for his boyfriend to remember he existed. Ian knew it sounded petty, even to think something like that - he was aware he wasn’t exactly entitled to Mickey’s time. But he _was_ used to getting it. And apparently the absence was bothering him more than he had even anticipated. 

No sooner had Ian thrown on some comfortable clothes after stepping out the shower, and plopped himself down on the couch to see if there was anything good on Netflix to distract him, than he felt his phone buzzing against his thigh. He grinned wildly, and had to take a few deep breaths to calm himself down before answering so he wouldn’t seem like a complete lunatic when Mickey finally saw his face. 

Mickey waited patiently for Ian to answer. He felt reasonably shitty for saying nothing in response to Ian’s picture earlier, but he had been preoccupied and it had been one hell of a day. After the appointment where Mandy and Matteo discovered that they would be welcoming a little girl into the world in a few short months, Mickey could feel an undeniable shift in the atmosphere. Mandy wasn’t cracking jokes or giving him shit as often as she had been - she seemed soft and happy, like everything was right with the world. Mickey accompanied the couple as they ran errands, and he’d even picked up some things that he thought he would need throughout the week while they were out. 

He’d watched them walking around the local wholefoods, holding hands and giggling, looking like they’d just won the fucking lottery. On the one hand, Mickey was happy for them. As much of an asshole as he liked to be, he was ultimately concerned about his sister's wellbeing, and she seemed to be thriving. On the other hand, Mickey found himself feeling… _jealous_. He couldn’t quite understand it, and yet he was pretty sure that’s what he was experiencing.

Mickey knew he’d never felt that way with Clyde. He never would, and he didn’t particularly want to. 

Ian was the only person who had ever made him feel even a fraction of that type of happiness, but unfortunately, he wasn’t married to Ian. 

Once they had finally arrived back at the apartment, Mickey had actually hurried to the guest room, telling Mandy that he was planning on calling Clyde to update him about the trip, and tell him the good news. In reality, Clyde was the last person he wanted to speak to - instead Mickey closed the door, locked it for good measure, and began to facetime Ian as he collapsed onto the bed. 

Ian answered after only a few rings, and the minute their phones actually connected them, Mickey could see his slightly pixelated smile shining like a 40 watt bulb, lighting up the room. 

“Hey,” Mickey hummed softly, feeling himself deflate against the mattress. 

“Hi Mick.” Ian smiled and rolled onto his side on the sofa, holding the phone close enough that his face was the only thing that took up the screen. He was happy he’d broken down and upgraded his phone in the spring, and now the screen was large enough for him to see each shade of blue that made up Mickey’s eyes. He scanned over Mickey’s mellow appearance and he snickered upon seeing that he was in bed already. “Isn’t it still early over there? Going to bed already, old man?” 

“How ‘bout you explain to me why you make me regret callin’ you ever time I do it.” Mickey grumbled, although it was so obviously a lie since he barely got through the sentence without cracking a smile. “I just came in here to talk to you, ‘cause- uh… I still haven’t told Mandy about…” He looked away from the screen anxiously. “This.” Mickey gestured between Ian and himself. 

“Oh. Okay.” Ian’s smile dimmed but he quickly turned the camera away from his face and pretended like his plan was to get off of his sofa anyway. He walked into the kitchen and set his phone face up on the counter. “Grabbing a beer, hold on.” He said, before momentarily muting himself. He rubbed a hand over his face and sighed before pulling a beer out of the six pack he’d bought to get through the week without Mickey. 

Ian unmuted his phone and opened his drink before walking over to his room, phone in hand, reminding himself once again that Mickey didn’t have to expose his secrets to his sister. He was married for Christ’s sake. Mandy probably went to their wedding. 

Mickey immediately recognized the tone of Ian’s voice shift, and he knew that he had already fucked up. “You alright?” He asked sincerely. Ian would most likely pretend that everything was fine, even if it wasn’t, but Mickey couldn’t ignore the way his face had fallen. Not this time. 

“Yeah, just tired.” Ian wasn’t about to admit that he had a completely off day, mainly due to the fact that he had barely talked to Mickey at all. He climbed onto his bed and sat with his back against the wall as he took his first sip of his ice cold beer.

Mickey gnawed on his bottom lip until he decided he wasn’t going to just let it drop. “Bullshit.” Mickey countered, rolling onto his back and shuffling upward so he could lean against the headboard. “You’re upset that I haven’t told Mandy, aren’t you? No point in hiding that shit. Just say it.” 

“No!” Ian exclaimed, more forcefully than he had intended. He reeled himself back in and drew his knees up to his chest. “It’s not that. Well.. it’s not completely that. I mean, yeah, of course I want her to know, but you don’t _have_ to tell her… not yet anyway. You should probably wait until things between you and Clyde are… ya know, _done_.” He left the statement vague. Although he really did believe that Mickey was committed to their relationship, he didn’t know when or even if Mickey would be leaving Clyde. Had he even considered a divorce? Or was Ian getting way too far ahead of himself? Everything seemed so uncertain. 

“It’s stupid…” Ian admitted, nervously peeling the label off the glass bottle. “I just missed you today… a lot.” He chewed the inside of his lips and glanced at the screen, trying to catch a glimpse of Mickey’s expression, before training his gaze back down at the bottle.

Mickey wanted to attend to the rest of what Ian had just divulged, but he couldn’t seem to get past the ‘ _done with Clyde_ ’ part. He had been avoiding thinking about it because - well, it was fucking messy. He wanted to be done with Clyde. Of course he did - if it weren’t for all the technicalities of being married to the man Mickey was sure he might have already split. But there were so many obstacles, and his relationship with Ian was still pretty ambiguous despite their recent commitment to being boyfriends. The thought of enacting a plan to leave Clyde made Mickey feel fucking exhausted. 

“I… I miss you too, dumbass.” Mickey finally managed to spit out, and he sure as fuck meant it. “It’s been less than two days though… you sure this ain’t about somethin’ else?” 

That question made Ian’s head spin. _Damn_ , maybe there was something else. He wasn’t normally so needy and he could _feel_ himself being clingy. It was a horrible sensation. “No, mom, I’m fine.” He smiled softly and shook his head. Although, the seed had been planted in his mind that he needed to start keeping track of his mood again, just in case. He knew when he kept himself busy, things had a habit of sneaking up on him. 

“Yeah that’s right, screw me for givin’ a shit about you…” Mickey scoffed. “Maybe if you weren’t such a dickhead I’d tell you about the crazy shit I found out today…” He felt the excitement building up inside of him, clawing at his ribcage, begging to be released.

“Good crazy or bad crazy?” Ian felt like a hypocrite for phrasing it like that, yet he was sure he’d seen both ends of that spectrum at different points in time. He sat up a little more and took another sip of his beer. 

“Good crazy,” Mickey confirmed. He figured he might as well just come out and say it. “So turns out, Mandy’s knocked up. And I found out today that I’m gonna have a niece in a few months.” 

“Holy shit!” Ian cheered, “Wait, hold on, she’s pregnant? Like _pregnant_ pregnant?”

“You heard me!” Mickey insisted. 

“That’s fuckin’ amazing! How far along is she?” Ian asked.

“Six months I think, somethin’ like that. Didn’t even know until I got here. And now I’ve got a fuckin’ _niece_ on the way.” Mickey couldn’t help it, he was _beaming_.

“Dude, that’s crazy. I’m so happy for her.” Ian nearly melted inside at the sound of pure joy in Mickey’s voice. “I love my niece, you’re gonna love yours too.” Ian did the only thing he could think to do - he raised his bottle in a toast to Mandy being happy and married and starting a family. He really was glad after hearing the news- it was nice to know that somewhere in the world, things were working out for a Milkovich. He wished he could congratulate her, but given that she didn’t know that he was kind-of, sort of, dating her married brother, it would be far too out of the blue. 

“If she’s anything like her mother, I’m probably gonna want to drown her at some point,” Mickey chuckled. 

Ian laughed at Mickey’s classic exaggeration and shook his head. “Nah, man. I don’t know how personality and shit like that works, all I know is that Debbie’s… well, _Debbie_ , but Franny is a _whole_ different story. She’s such a great kid.”

“Again, you are the biggest fuckin’ sap I’ve ever met.” Mickey tutted, before conceding, “I gotta admit though, I’m excited as fuck to see what she’s gonna be like.” 

“That’s great, babe! I’m excited for you.” The term of endearment popped out suddenly and Ian flushed from head to toe, but he made no attempt to backtrack. He’d only ever let shit like that slip in the heat of the moment while they were fucking, but now it had seemed to migrate into benign conversations as well. 

Mickey felt the tips of his ears begin to burn. There had been no actual conversation about the pet name thing, but the way Ian so naturally weaved it into conversation made it impossible for Mickey to object even jokingly. He would never admit he loved it as much as he did. 

“Think this calls for a celebration?” Mickey smirked and hooded his eyes suggestively. He was half-kidding, but he really did miss Ian and he regretted not taking him up on the offer earlier that morning

“You’re such a dork.” Ian laughed. In all honesty, he wasn’t really feeling himself. He’d had an off day and his self-esteem had taken a hit. Any other day, he’d be all over having Facetime sex with Mickey, but his head was just not in the game for the time being. “We’ll celebrate when you get back. I’m not jacking off with you to the news of your sister's pregnancy. That’s weird as fuck, even for us.” Ian’s delivery was deadpan, but he was still smirking. 

Mickey cringed, but he still managed to find the humor in it. “Fuck yeah, you’re right, man. But, you shoulda known how fucked up I was going into this.” 

“Yeah, I really should’ve, huh? Big bad Milkovich and all.” He stuck his tongue out at Mickey and laughed, gulping down the rest of his beer in order to finish it and lay down. It was nearly midnight and it had been a long day. 

“You look exhausted man.” Mickey was nearly whispering it. Ian looked like a dead man walking. Mickey would have talked to him all evening - if it wouldn’t have made Mandy suspicious, but Ian appeared to be falling asleep on him. “You overworkin’ yourself?” 

“I don’t know… I cleaned a few more pools than usual, maybe that’s just catching up to me. I’m doing 7-to-7 tomorrow so I gotta wake up at 5:45.” He yawned and laid down, setting the empty bottle on his nightstand and then propping his phone up on the pillow next to his head. God, he wished Mickey was there with him in his bed, even just to hold him until he fell asleep. 

“You’re gonna regret that shit.” Mickey whistled. He understood though, why Ian needed to work so much. He figured Ian was barely keeping his head above water, and the thought made him retroactively feel as if he shouldn’t have let Ian pay for their food at the airport. 

“Yeah probably,” Ian shrugged, and he struggled to keep his eyes propped open. “Thanks again, for letting me just drive your car around while you’re gone… you have no fuckin’ idea how much it helps.” 

“You don’t gotta thank me, man.” Mickey blew out a breath. “Now, what are you still doing talking to me? Go the fuck to sleep.” 

Ian pulled the blanket up to his chin, his cheek pressed into his pillow. The fabric muffled his words as he spoke. “Wanted to talk to you...” 

“Yeah well, you talked to me,” Mickey smiled fondly, picking himself up from the mattress. “I need to go make sure my sister hasn’t literally drowned in a pool of her own tears. She started crying at the appointment and hasn’t fuckin’ stopped since.” 

“Aw, that’s sweet. T-...” Ian stopped himself from telling Mickey to congratulate her on his behalf. “I should sleep.” He yawned, closing his eyes and turning into his pillow. 

“Now who’s the fuckin’ old man,” Mickey teased. “Sweet dreams, Red.” 

“Night, Mick.” Ian made sure his eyes were open, just a crack, and just as the Facetime disconnected he caught the look on Mickey’s face. It was a mixture of things, but Ian could see the care and concern too. It was evident in the softness of his eyes and downward tilt of his lips. 

It made Ian want to call back right away, and make sure Mickey knew that everything was fine. But, maybe it wasn’t. Either way, Ian couldn’t stop sleep from over taking him, and soon he was effectively unconscious - clutching onto his spare pillow like his life depended on it. 

*

## One Week Later - Friday Night 

Ian frowned at his notebook in silence as he finished filling in his DIY mood chart. He was dead tired after a long shift, and frustrated beyond reason that his notebook wasn’t displaying what he wanted to see. He’d had four bad days in a row. One more and he’d need to make an appointment with his therapist, given his self-enforced treatment plan. 

It didn’t help that he had barely spoken to Mickey all week. He tried repeatedly to convince himself that it had to be more than that - that his happiness couldn’t be completely wrapped up in his relationship with a married man. Maybe it was just a factor on top of his overwhelming work schedule - the final straw threatening to break the camel's back - but he was normally on top of his shit. That’s what annoyed him the most about his disorder. For anyone else, the few days of anxiety and frustration could have just as easily described an off week. But for Ian, he had to take stock of everything, his food intake, his sleep schedule, his mood, his meds. To top it off, he was constantly analyzing if anything he was experiencing could be interpreted as a symptom. The process itself was exhausting. 

With a grunt, Ian threw the notebook down beside his half-eaten plate of dinner and had to acknowledge that it was yet another thing he’d been lying to himself about. His appetite had disappeared this week, but he’d brushed it off as simply being too busy to eat. He forced himself to get a few more bites down, before giving up and putting the leftovers into some tupperware. 

As much as Ian had been avoiding it, he quickly came to the conclusion that the only thing that would make him feel better would be to hear Mickey’s voice before his feeble attempt to try to sleep the feelings off. Ian skipped out on a much needed shower, in favor of climbing into his most comfortable pair of pajamas and crawling into bed, barely having the energy to brush his teeth before doing so. He didn’t even bother to text Mickey before calling him, he just picked up his phone and FaceTimed him. Ian’s head throbbed with each ring, and he hoped that Mickey would pick up - it was bound to be an unbearably long night otherwise. 

*

For as much as Mickey’s trip qualified as a vacation, Mandy and Matteo spent the week keeping him busy as fuck. Despite Mandy being well into her pregnancy, she was just as hyper as ever, and now that she and her husband lived in relative financial comfort, she apparently didn’t plan on holding back. Although Matteo hadn’t been able to take time away from his law firm, Mandy was home free. She had a full itinerary for Mickey and she hadn’t taken no for an answer. 

Mandy had dragged him shopping for baby shit as soon as she could, and somehow Mickey had found himself carrying a brand new stroller and a fucking breast pump out to the back of Mandy’s car. They’d done everything from visiting the Golden Gate bridge to sneaking into a movie for old times sake - which Mickey had to admit was much easier now that they weren’t dirty, shifty looking teenagers and Mandy was literally _pregnant_. 

There were moments of quiet too, times when he and Mandy just silently soaked up each other's presence. Mickey was impressed by his sister - she seemed genuinely happy in her life. She’d never lose her flair - the little glint in her eyes that would always betray her as a part of the Milkovich clan, but from what Mickey could tell, Matteo loved all of it. He loved her. 

Mickey found himself thinking that it was what a marriage should be. 

In their downtime, Mickey diligently worked away on the coding for his game. There was no end in sight for the project, he was content with letting his imagination run wild and just seeing what would result. Eventually, Mandy noticed her brother’s preoccupation with his laptop, and when she asked what he was up to, it led to a few hours of Mickey animatedly explaining to her how the program worked, and showing her what he had come up with so far. Oddly enough, Mandy hadn’t taken the piss out of him as much as Mickey had assumed she would - he had prepared himself to be made fun of, but Mandy actually seemed impressed. It was a strangely validating experience.

By Friday evening, Matteo was off of work early and offered to take the siblings out to do something fun. They drove out to TopGolf in San Jose with a group of their friends and Mickey was happy to find that he wasn’t half bad at hitting a golf ball off a tee - how far it went was not relevant. So what if it didn’t count as ‘real golf’- Mickey was just glad to know he had it in him to at least hit the ball, even after he had a few drinks in him. For all the times that he’d accompanied Clyde out to the greens, he’d never actually participated. He’d spent most of his time in the clubhouse, ordering one rum and coke after the other until he could stand to be in the pretentious environment without wanting to blow a hole in his head. 

Mickey enjoyed sitting around and conversing with real people. People who didn’t want to see a plastic smile on his face. People that asked him questions about his life - and cared about the answer - over a messy plate of nachos and injectable donut holes. Save for Mandy, they drank and laughed at eachother’s increasingly stupid jokes. He was happy to see that Mandy’s friends were equally as ready to take the piss out of her as he was. He’d finally met her chosen family- and what’s more, he _liked_ them.

When they finally arrived home, Mickey was slightly buzzed and feeling the most relaxed he had in ages. In the elevator his phone began to ring, signalling an incoming Facetime, and he once again lied to Mandy’s face by telling her it was Clyde. In reality, Mickey hadn’t spoken to his husband in days. 

It wasn’t Clyde. 

It was Ian. 

He ignored the call just long enough to excuse himself to the spare bedroom, but when the door was finally closed and locked, he swiped the screen to connect the call. 

*

“Mickey...” Ian smiled softly, although his tone fell flat. He didn’t have enough energy to even attempt to keep up the facade of happiness. 

Mickey was immediately taken aback by how drained Ian appeared, surrounded by darkness, other than the blue light that was emanating from his phone screen. It was like an affront on his eyes, seeing the normally vibrant freckled face looking so gaunt and lifeless. “Jesus, Ian! Are you fuckin’ sick or something? You don’t look so hot, man.” Mickey exclaimed bluntly. He’d subconsciously noticed the gentle decline, but now it was too obvious to ignore. “What’s wrong?” He prompted when Ian’s answer wasn’t forthcoming. 

Ian fumbled for something to say, “I… I’m just tired. See, I’m already in bed.” He turned the camera away from his face so Mickey could see the rest of his bed and the wall before flipping the camera back around. 

Mickey sat down on the edge of his bed and furrowed his eyebrows to the point that they almost began to hurt. “Bull- _fucking_ -shit, Gallagher.” Mickey grunted. The buzz was loosening his lips, and he wasn’t prepared to be lied to. He didn’t know what Ian was trying to pull, but it was obviously something that needed to be addressed. “You look like you’ve been run over by a fuckin’ steam roller. This is more than just tired.” 

Ian rolled his eyes and sighed. “Okay, I get it - I look like shit. Can we move on please?” 

“Uh. No.” Mickey felt some indignation rise up in him and he tried to stomp it down, to no avail. “I’m not moving on. What the hell is going on with you? You’re not gonna fuckin’ shock me. Whatever it is, I just need you to tell me, alright?” 

Ian didn’t know why Mickey was assuming shit. Assuming he had something to tell Mickey. _He doesn’t know, right?_ There wasn’t anyone who could’ve told Mickey about his disorder. He was starting to feel paranoid by the line of questioning, like he was being interrogated. Could Mickey have tracked down Lip? Would Lip have told him? 

_Of course not_ , Ian tried to reassure himself. _You’re jumping to conclusions._

Ian remained silent and swiped out of FaceTime so he could open his camera and see how bad he looked, acknowledging that Mickey could still see him but he didn’t care.

“Ian!” Mickey snapped, exasperated. He knew he was being short with the younger man, but the longer Ian avoided his question, the more it was pissing him off. “You’re obviously fuckin’ hiding something from me! Can you just cut the shit?!” 

Ian flinched at Mickey’s abruptness and dropped his phone onto his shoulder. He hadn’t expected to be fucking yelled at, by Mickey of all people. The unexpectedness of it had Ian’s thoughts racing out of control. Mickey didn’t deserve someone who would hide things from him. He had enough secrets to deal with in his own life without Ian giving him extra shit to worry about. _Maybe I should just let him go. He doesn’t need to know why. Would save him the heartache in the future._

Ian breathed out slowly as his eyes welled with tears. He tried like hell to hold it back, feeling a hot wave of shame crashing down on him as he sniffled. Finally, when he couldn’t contain it anymore, Ian clamped his hand over his mouth and let out a muffled cry. 

Mickey felt his heart drop about fifty feet into his stomach as he heard Ian lose his composure. It left him stunned for a moment - he’d never been any good around tears, and he definitely didn't expect to see them coming from Ian of all people. It was a moment of vulnerability, Mickey realized, that he was being allowed to observe. Suddenly the screen was being lifted up, and when Ian’s face came back into view, all Mickey could see was red swollen eyes. 

“Fuck, I’m-” Mickey began, watching as Ian tried desperately to wipe away the few tears that had been allowed to escape. He looked fucking mortified, and Mickey felt entirely responsible. “I’m sorry alright- I didn’t think you would…” Mickey huffed, trying to figure out what the fuck he trying to say. “I’m just fuckin’ frustrated alright? I’m not sure what’s happening and now you’ve gone all weepy on me- how am I _not_ supposed to think that there’s something wrong?” 

Ian sniffled again and shook his head - he was just as confused about where the tears had come from. He felt so out of his element, and he knew now more than ever than he needed to get help as soon as possible. Fuck his five day rule. He couldn’t stand the way Mickey was looking at him - like he was _broken_. 

Now was the best time to tell him, Ian figured. There was no avoiding what needed to be said. Ian had never told anyone over FaceTime, but it seemed like a solid choice since he could simply hang up if things went south. It wasn’t like saying things face to face - he’d had several failed relationships with douchebags who looked at him like some sort of alien once he’d told them about his disorder, and Ian had never felt worse in his life. He desperately wanted to believe that things would be different with Mickey, but he’d been burned before, and so his urge to protect himself felt natural and justified. 

“M’sorry, Mick.” Ian’s voice came out in a hoarse whisper. He wiped his eyes and then cleared his throat to say it again a little louder. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you earlier.”

“Told me what?” Mickey asked quietly. He was trying to give off the impression that no response would deter him, but Ian was making it hard with how cagey he was being. 

“I’m bipolar.” He spoke quickly, trying to get out his usual spiel. “It’s hereditary, and it- it can get a little difficult to handle, but that doesn’t mean I can’t fucking take care of myself. It just gets in the way of life sometimes. But, it’s hard to tell people about it.” His eyes close partially as they fill with tears again - unbidden and unstoppable. “People leave when they find out...” He half-sobbed, closing his eyes and hiding half of his face behind his hand- hating himself more by the second.

Mickey could only blink and breathe, taking in this new information. He’d heard of being bipolar before, but only colloquially. He was sure he’d called Clyde bipolar before, or something, without really understanding what it meant. He felt frozen. Unsure of how to react, unsure of the right thing to say - if such a thing even existed. Ian looked so fuckin defeated that it made Mickey want to reach through the screen and comfort him. 

After a few drawn out moments of silence, Mickey found himself speaking. 

“Christ Ian, I-” Mickey scrubbed his palm over his face. “I thought for sure you were gonna say you fuckin’ murdered someone. Or that you were gettin’ locked up for dealin’ meth or some shit.” Mickey couldn’t help but laugh at himself. 

“ _Mickeyyyy_ …” Ian whined, frantically wiping his tears away from his cheeks before the corner of his lips turned up in a smile. “Don’t laugh, man. I can’t handle it right now.” 

He knew Mickey was trying to make light of the situation but Ian needed to know - he needed to know that Mickey understood what he was telling him. He needed to know if Mickey cared enough to stay. 

“Sorry, sorry it’s just-” Mickey got the nervous laughter out of his system, and took a deep breath before he could focus back on the screen. “So… bipolar, huh? I’m not actually sure, uh… I’ve just never…” Mickey once again found himself stumbling over his goddamn words. “That’s like, ups and downs right?” He resisted the urge to face-palm. He sounded like an idiot. 

“Yep, that’s the one.” Ian pulled his blanket tighter around him. “It’s not… it’s hard to explain. It’s… just a part of me I have to live with.” No matter how many times Ian had explained it, he never found a better way to go about it. It wasn’t something that could be summarized correctly - one needed to experience it to get the full effect. 

Mickey contemplated it all for a moment. To Ian, this was something monumental, something that he’d felt he needed to work up to. To Mickey, it didn’t seem as dramatic. He could understand though - it was a bit different from Ian’s admission, but growing up poor gave most people an internalized sense of shame, one that follows a person for their whole life. Mickey knew all about that type of shame - no matter how often he had tried to mask it, so of course he could understand the type of shame Ian was experiencing. Wishing things were different, that you were anyone but who you are. Mickey didn’t blame him for not wanting to jump the gun. But, now he felt deep remorse for getting so pissed off at Ian. 

“Listen,” Mickey began, hoping the right thing to say would just appear in his head, “I ain’t some prick who’s gonna leave you high and dry over shit that’s not in your control, alright? I don’t really know much about being ‘bipolar’ but… I’ll try and keep up. Okay? Just… fuckin’ be patient with me.” He gave Ian a shy, pensive smile, hoping to receive one in return. 

“Thanks.” Ian mumbled and felt relief flood into his system when he glanced up to see Mickey’s smile. “I just need you to know that uh... I can get really depressed,” he spoke quickly, glossing over the gravity of the words, “or really manic… that’s like being high - way too much energy, and my thoughts and ideas don’t always make sense. I take meds for all of it, but sometimes they just stop working. I go to a doctor who helps me manage it.” He added quickly so that Mickey could understand that it wasn’t hopeless. 

Mickey nodded respectfully. He’d been low before, but he’d never considered himself depressed. The fact that Ian had an actual diagnosis and medication made him realize how serious the situation was. Still, it didn’t scare him. Ian still looked sheepish, like he was embarrassed to be explaining things to Mickey.

“Hey,” Mickey waited until Ian was making direct eye contact with him through the screen. “I’m not going anywhere. Just so you know.” 

“Thanks, Mick. I… I think I just needed to hear that.” Ian blushed then, redness coloring his pale cheeks. He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “Sorry for cryin’. Been holding that in all day…” He gave Mickey a half-smile. “I dunno, maybe I’ll be better at explaining it all when it isn’t breathing down my neck, like it is now. It’s been a low week, but I never know the first day. I start feeling more and more tired, and I get irritated by the smallest things. Eventually everything starts running together until I can’t even drag myself out of bed. Mania is the complete opposite. Running on no sleep, feeling like I can do anything in the world.” 

Mickey felt another wave of relief surge over him. All of Ian’s confusing behaviour suddenly made a lot of sense. It was still hard to imagine living that way, but the fact that Ian could hold down multiple jobs and be such a help to his family, while simultaneously dealing with so much internal shit impressed the hell out of Mickey - made him fall a little deeper under Ian’s spell. 

“You don’t gonna hold shit back around me, man. That’s what I’ve been tryin’ to tell you. I ain’t gonna call you a pussy for cryin’.” The funny thing was, Mickey knew that not so long ago, he definitely would have thought of Ian as less of a man for being so emotional. He’d been conditioned from a young age to avoid any sort of outward display that came off as too weak - too “gay”. Crying was definitely on the top of that list, as far as the Milkoviches were concerned. Even Mandy wasn’t exempt from it. Yet now, with his armor stripped away and the raw emotions being unearthed, Mickey knew all too well what it was like to be drained like that, and to let it build up to the point of explosion. 

He would be damned if Ian didn’t view him as a soft place to fall. 

“Thanks for… trusting me.” Mickey said softly, so softly, and the relief he saw in Ian’s eyes was reward enough. “Fuck knows that shit ain’t easy.” 

“I know you trust me too.” Ian responded without hesitation, rolling onto his side. “I am sorry… for not tellin’ you sooner. I didn’t mean to freak you out.” 

“You don’t gotta keep fuckin’ apologizing, man.” Mickey waved him off, and in that moment he wanted to kiss Ian more than anything in the world.

“Well, too bad. I am anyway.” Ian said before he yawned. “ _Fuck_ , I wish you were here right now.” He hummed.

Mickey breathed deeply and opened his mouth to respond, when a knock at the door startled him, causing his phone to go crashing to the floor.

“Hey, bitch!” The voice was muffled by the door, but it was undoubtedly Mandy. “Whenever you’re done virtually making out with your husband or whatever the fuck you’re doing in there, you should come out here. Matteo just told me that he thinks he can beat you at poker, and you and I both know his ass is too drunk to make good on that shit!”

Mickey scrambled to pick up his phone, not even bothering to check it for cracks. 

“Tell him he’s gonna regret saying that shit!” Mickey shouted confidently, and he could hear Mandy’s cackle receding as she got further and further away from the door. 

Mickey looked back at his phone and gave Ian a lopsided and apologetic smile. “Gotta go,” He murmured. “I’ll call again when I can, alright?” He wanted to say more.

 _I love you_ , Mickey thought. But when he tried to make his mouth form the words, it felt physically impossible. 

“Sounds good. Hey, uh, don’t worry about me, okay? I’ll be fine.” He felt bad for leaving Mickey to process this with such little information. 

“Nothin’ to worry about.” Mickey reassured him. “We’ll talk about it when I get back, okay Freckles?” 

“Yeah. We will.” _I love you_. The words were on the tip of Ian’s tongue but he couldn’t bring himself to say them. Not yet, at any rate. 

He didn’t know when he’d speak to Mickey next, but he felt a little lighter, a little less hopeless, knowing that he and Mickey had no more secrets between them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading everyone! <3  
> We're a few pages into chapter 13, so we hope to get the next chapter out sooner, but with the holidays coming up we will see! We're so thankful for everyone's support so far, and we read and appreciate each and every comment!  
> That being said, leave us a comment to let us know what you think!  
> Until next time ;)


	13. That's enough Mandy for one day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back folks! Thanks once again for your support and patience, it means so much to us!  
> (Warning: we added a kink to the tags specifically for this chapter!)
> 
> Find the authors on Insta/Twitter/Tumblr:
> 
> Jinlin5: Insta (@gallavich_doodles) // Tumblr (@doodlevich)  
> camnoelgallavich: Insta (@cam.monaghanfan) // Twitter (@cam_monaghanfan)

###  Saturday Afternoon

“So are you gonna tell me what the fuck is up or not?” 

Mickey turned his attention away from his laptop at the sound of Mandy’s voice. For the last hour, he had been sitting on a stool in front of the kitchen island, working diligently on the next set of commands for his game - a project that was slowly developing into something even more exciting and time-consuming than he’d originally anticipated. 

“Huh?” Mickey questioned, his mind filled with codes and storyline, with no room left over to process the question Mandy had just posed. 

“The fuck is up with you and Clyde?” Mandy asked as she trailed into the room, filing her nails and remaining unfazed, as if she hadn’t asked an earth-shattering question. 

Mickey went from feeling relatively relaxed to being on high alert in a matter of seconds. He quickly thought back on the week, scanning through the conversations he’d had with Mandy. He’d barely spoken about Clyde at all, and Mickey had no idea why his sister was suddenly bringing him up out of the blue. Perhaps that was the problem... he realized it probably was pretty unusual to avoid talking about your significant other for so long. Either way, Mandy had sensed that something was up, and Mickey realized he was going to have to make a decision about whether or not to lie straight to her face. 

“The hell are you talking about?” Mickey glanced back at his screen, pretending to type out some strings of code, while in actuality he was just tapping at the keys nonsensically. 

“You’re not wearing your wedding ring, dumbass. You fly out here - pretty much out of the blue - and you haven’t been wearing your ring this whole time. That pretty much screams ‘we’re having problems’.” Mandy settled at the end of the island opposite her brother and put the nail file down, using her freshly buffed hand to push the laptop halfway closed, forcing Mickey to take his hands away from the keys and look at her. 

Mickey glanced frantically down at his ring finger and was sure Mandy saw him go pale. His knuckles had sufficiently healed up from the wall punching incident two weeks prior; however, it was undeniable that there was a distinct lack of a wedding ring on his hand. Mickey let a litany of curses fly inside of his head. He’d completely forgotten to put the ring back on after leaving Ian at the airport, and it still sat in his wallet, collecting dust. It was a stupid mistake, and of course his perceptive sister picked up on it. Mandy had always been observant, and it always seemed to work out to Mickey’s detriment somehow. 

Instead of bitching Mandy out for attempting to close his laptop on him, Mickey simply closed it all the way himself, and resigned himself to the battle. Matteo was out grocery shopping, and so it was just the two of them in the apartment. Things were quiet, and Mandy was staring him down expectantly, waiting for him to say something - anything.

“Maybe I just fuckin’ forgot it, hm? Ever think of that, Sherlock?” Mickey offered weakly, going a bit heavy on the bravado in order to counteract his nerves. 

“Oh please... you never have a reason to take it off. Got all those maids doing’ your dishes…” Mandy shrugged and blew her bangs out of her eyes. Mickey was being cagey about his responses to her questions, only driving her further in her conviction that something was seriously wrong. Clyde would never speak to her on his own - she barely knew the man, and it had always seemed like Mickey liked it that way - so Mandy knew she would have to pry the answers straight out of the horse's mouth. 

“How about you fuck off?” Mickey huffed indignantly, folding his arms over his chest. “Everything’s fine.” He was still so torn about whether or not it was the right time to air all of his dirty laundry in front of his sister. 

Mandy slowly circled around the table, heading to the fridge to pour herself some juice. She came to a halt just as she neared Mickey and doled out a punch to Mickey’s bicep, so harshly the air snapped in her wake. This earned a surprised yelp from her brother - who was sure the diamond on her ring had made a permanent imprint into his skin. “Don’t lie to me.” Mandy growled, narrowing her eyes at him as she backed away towards the fridge. 

Mickey massaged his arm and held his breath until she was facing away from him, before letting it out in a rush of air. As much as it would simplify things to keep his relationship with Ian a secret, now that Mandy was clearly presenting him with the opportunity, he felt the urge to come clean. Ian had become such a large part of his life in such a short amount of time and as happy as Ian made him, he also didn’t know what to do with all of the emotions that he was stockpiling inside. Mickey chewed on the inside of his lip until it began to hurt, trying to decide what he should do. Would it be smarter to just let Mandy drop it? Would she even understand if he told her? Would she drag him kicking and screaming to the realization that he was actually somehow fucking up his life? Mickey felt a little dizzy at the possibility, however remote. 

Mandy glanced over her shoulder and saw the concentrated look on Mickey’s face. “You’ve never thought this hard about anything. Including that fancy shit you’ve been doing on your laptop all weekend, and I’m sure it takes every single brain cell you’ve got to do that.” She skirted past him to find her usual comfortable spot on the sofa, rocking back into it using the momentum of her protruding stomach. “You don’t have to tell me, but I’d recommend it. You always let things build up inside and then it explodes all over everyone around you.” She grunted, taking a sip of her juice and pawing at the remote. “I blame the daddy issues, personally.” 

After fidgeting for a few more seconds, Mickey lost it. An invitation to get all the shit he wanted to scream from the rooftops off of his chest was just too tempting. He clambered from the stool and left his laptop on the island, stomping over to the sofa like a pissed off toddler. He plunked himself down next to his sister so violently that it caused her to bounce from the force of it. Mickey leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and running his fingers through his hair as he thought about where to start.

Mandy watched with growing concern as her brother cradled his head for a few seconds before snapping up to look her dead in the eyes. “You can’t breath a fuckin’ word of this to anyone.” Mickey began with a threat, his only pretense and condition. “You gotta fuckin’ _promise_ me, Mandy.”

“I mean… I might tell Matteo…” She grinned evilly and then rolled her eyes and Mickey’s stern features. Milkoviches weren’t in the habit of snitching, and she was a bit insulted that he thought she would forget the family motto so easily. “If you say nobody, I obviously won’t, meathead.” Mandy set the tv remote aside and pulled her throw over her lap, settling in to listen. This was certainly more interesting than anything Netflix had to offer. 

Now that the moment had arrived, Mickey realized he had no idea how to go about telling his sister what was going on. Every angle he could approach the subject from made him look like the piece of shit, the bad guy - and Ian his willing accomplice. Of course, Mickey didn't think he was necessarily the _good_ guy, but it helped to take the extenuating circumstances into account. Mickey swallowed. He knew he just needed to just spit it the fuck out. The family they came from was known for things much worse than infidelity, after all.

“Shit between Clyde and I is... _fucked_ . Has been for a while now.” Mickey scratched the back of his neck nervously, finding himself now unable to keep his eyes focused on Mandy. “It’s just- not working and I… _uh…_ I guess, I… met someone.” He knew it was vague, but he was working himself up to the big reveal. 

Mandy’s light-hearted smirk dropped from her face. It had been no secret to her why Mickey had chosen to escape by marrying rich. She had been lucky enough to marry for love, but as the only gay son of the most homophobic prick in the state of Illinois, she knew Mickey had felt his options were pretty limited. Even if he hadn’t been in love, Mandy had always assumed Clyde was a good thing for him in some ways. As far as she had known, her brother had managed to find some sliver of happiness in that godforsaken city. “You’re… cheating on him? What the fuck Mickey? With who!” 

Mickey didn’t give himself time to chicken out - he just fucking said it. 

“This is funny, Mands. You’re gonna fuckin’ laugh at this.” He stammered, chortling weakly. “Um, d’you….remember Ian Gallagher?” He questioned sheepishly, bracing himself for a reaction.

“IAN GALLAGHER?” Mandy roared, her belly stopping her from sitting up completely straight. “Like Southside Ian Gallagher? My ‘ _boyfriend’_ from high school _IAN GALLAGHER_?” She reached out and grabbed onto Mickey’s arm, shaking him a little. 

“Jesus Christ!” Mickey batted his sister away. His emotions were already in a jumble, he didn’t need his body to be as well. “Fuck! Yes, that Ian Gallagher. How many of ‘em do you know?” Mickey gave Mandy his most incredulous look, “And don’t even try to tell me you didn’t know he was gay, ‘cause I’ll call bullshit.” 

“I figured out he was gay because he wasn’t constantly trying to fingerbang me like every other guy in our grade. You’re lucky he never fucked me… although I did do a number on his older brother a coupla times I think.” She laughed obnoxiously, knowing that statement would disgust Mickey.

Mickey was beginning to regret opening up. “Do you have to be so fuckin’ gross? I’m being serious here, Mandy.” Mickey sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “He uh… Clyde hired him… to clean our pool and I didn’t recognize him at first, I just thought I just lucked out by getting a stupidly hot pool boy. Anyway, we ended up havin’ a smoke together and…” He trailed off, trying to gauge Mandy’s reaction. 

It didn’t take an idiot to understand what Mickey was saying. “One thing led to another and now he’s blowin’ your back out?” She asked casually, resting her elbow on the back of the sofa and propping her head up with her hand. 

“Yeah. Something like that…” Mickey shrugged.

Mandy sighed. “Mick… you can’t just bang someone else because you’re having problems with your husband. I’ve never been to marriage counseling, but I’m pretty sure that’s not one of the homework activities they give you.” 

Mickey opened his mouth, but Mandy grasped his hand and squeezed just before he could try and defend himself. 

“But,” She quickly added, “if things between you and Clyde are really bad and not looking like they’re going to get any better… you don’t have to stay with him. It’s a marriage. Not fuckin’ Guantanamo.” She shook her head and trailed off. Truthfully, she didn’t know how hard Mickey had tried to make things work with Clyde. She didn’t know if they’d spoken about their problems or if Mickey was jumping the gun, but she hadn’t seen Mickey this distraught in ages- and she wasn’t a fan. 

“It ain’t that simple.” Mickey huffed. It made sense that Mandy’s approach was so straightforward - she had no way of knowing how bad things were with Clyde. Mickey could hardly articulate it himself. He’d spent the majority of his marriage trying to convince both himself and others that things were perfect - that despite how it felt at times, he’d improved his life, and that he deserved the luxury that was all around him. However, somewhere along the way things had devolved into chaos. Not the loud and reckless chaos that he and Mandy had lived through in their childhood - this was a _quiet_ type of chaos. Relentless, insidious. _Abuse_ , Mickey could now admit to himself. He’d avoided even thinking the word for so long. Terry had controlled him through violence - Clyde’s method of control was not so obvious. “All I know is that Ian and I aren’t just _banging_. There’s more to it than that.” 

“Okay... '' Mandy began, feeling her head begin to spin already. Obviously, Mickey wanted to say more about his husband and their life together but he was struggling to do so, so she figured she’d help him out. “I’m glad _someone_ is treating you right and we’ll get back to that whole situation in just a minute, but first… let’s focus on this crumbling marriage thing. Honestly, all I know about Clyde is that he’s loaded and cleans teeth.” 

Mickey let out a pitiful snort. “I don’t even know where the hell to start.” He was developing a tension headache as he tried to grasp onto even a single thought that was swirling around his mind. He leaned back on the headrest of the couch, blowing out a concentrated burst of air, and picked a jumping off point. “Clyde doesn’t give a shit about me. Not really. Maybe I’m a fuckin’ mouth-breather for not realizing it sooner, but he only ever wanted someone to control. And I’m the idiot who fuckin’ fell for it.” Mickey glanced out of the corner of his eye at his sister, and when he realized she was actually keeping her mouth shut and listening, he kept talking. “I just thought he was gonna be my ticket out of the bullshit we grew up in. But he treats me like a piece of the fuckin’ furniture- just waiting around for him to use me whenever he feels like it. I thought it was worth it. But then Ian showed up one day and...” Mickey shook his head. “It’s all just so _fucked_. I don’t expect you to get it.”

Mandy furrowed her eyebrows, mirroring Mickey’s. If someone had been there to witness it, the similarities would have been uncanny. “What do you mean he uses you?” She selected one of the standout parts of what Mickey had confessed, and naturally assumed the worst by the way he’d said it. Her teeth clenched as she felt her protective instincts overflow. Despite the way they picked on one another, Mickey was still her big brother and no one was allowed to treat him that way on her watch. They’d been tossed around like objects - as means to their father's twisted ends - throughout most of their childhoods, and although their experiences had been very different, they both bore the scars. 

“For years he’s just been showing me off to his friends. At first it felt… sorta good, ya know? Like he saw some shit in me that no one else could see.” Mickey swallowed the lump forming in his throat. “But then I started to realize, holy fuck, I’ve been nothing but a goddamn _project_ for him, like restoring an old beater. Dragging me around, like _‘hey fellas, look at this piece of shit that I turned into something’_.” He could already feel Mandy’s pity, curling around him like vines, squeezing the air out of his chest. She hadn’t let go of his hand, and he noticed her squeezing tighter after each word that left his mouth. 

Mickey couldn’t bring himself to look at her. “I never thought he was a fuckin’ saint, or anything. I just wanted something for myself for once. And to not have to worry about living from paycheck to paycheck for the rest of my life, or havin’ to be a fuckin’ criminal just to make ends meet. I don’t love him. Never did. But now, he owns my ass… and I dunno how to get out.” It was a moment of total honesty. Mickey had never said it all out loud before, but hearing himself speak, he knew once and for all that he couldn’t go on living that life anymore. It was killing him - poisoning from the inside out.

“Mick, no one _owns_ you.” Mandy stated firmly. “You sound like you _want_ to leave him. You just gotta put a plan into motion. Matteo’s got some divorce lawyer buddies who might be able to help.” She leaned in, waiting until Mickey was looking at her. “Of course it’s not gonna be that easy - I know. But it sounds like you _have_ to do it. For your own good.” 

Until he heard it coming out of someone else's mouth, Mickey had no idea how right it all sounded. But hearing Mandy sounding so convicted made a switch flip inside of him. Something had to be done. “What if I fuck my life up permanently?” Mickey asked sincerely. “Sure, Ian’s there for me now but… I mean, how the hell do I know he’ll stick around?” 

“Aye, shithead - who said anything about Ian?” She flicked his bicep. “We’re talking about you right now. _You’ll_ be better off not being married to Clyde. We’ve already dealt with all that shit with Terry. He was always king of his fucking castle, deciding things for us before we had a chance to. Just generally ruining our lives.” She sighed, shaking her head to free herself from the horrendous memories that threatened to creep back in. “Aren’t you tired of being unhappy?” 

The question seemed to run through Mickey’s body like an electric current, making him sit up ramrod straight. It dawned on him all at once that he’d never considered happiness to be his goal. Marrying Clyde had been mainly strategic - for both of them - Mickey acknowledged. Of course he wasn’t happy. He’d been confronted with that truth on several occasions, especially since Ian had entered his life. And fuck yes, he was tired. So tired. Tired of bullshitting his way through life. 

Mickey was overwhelmed in that moment, and so he did the only thing he knew to do. He cracked a joke. “What, you’re a fuckin’ shrink now?” He punched lightly at his sister's arm, just enough to rock her slightly. 

“Looks like it. Either that or I’ve been watching too much Dr. Phil.” Mandy shoved him away with a laugh. “I’m serious though Mickey. I’m _happy_ and I’d never thought I’d have any of this.” She held her hand out and gestured to the moderately fancy furnishings of her apartment. “But at the top of that list of things I never thought I’d have, happiness. I never knew I could have a life that I love, with a man I love, and-“ A that moment Thumper leaped up from the floor and onto her lap, “- a bunny I love.” 

“That little shit _bit_ me. He ain’t so perfect.” Mickey couldn’t help but shake his head and grin at his sister. 

Mandy smoothed down Thumper’s ears until they laid flat against his body as she continued her pep-talk. “Shut up. Always thought it had to be one or the other- a stable income or love. Where we’re from, having both seemed kind of impossible. But it’s _not_ . We can fuckin’ have it all _dammit_.” She slammed her fist down on the sofa cushion below Mickey’s knee, starting both Mickey and the rabbit, causing Thumper to hop back down from her perch as quickly as he arrived. 

Mickey felt a strange sense of pride well up in his chest. His little sister had grown from the reckless kid, desperate for the attention of anyone who would have her, to someone who knew what she wanted, someone with goals. Someone who had found her own little pocket of _happiness_. He glanced down at the swell of her stomach, and thought about the kid growing inside of her. Mickey blinked rapidly, willing his leaking tear ducts to fucking leave him be. 

“Holy fuck,” Mickey gasped wetly, pawing at his eyes. He didn’t really know what else he could stay. He was pretty sure Mandy understood him - they spoke the same language after all, the secret sibling code that came from communicating without words for a large portion of their childhood.

Mandy felt awkward about seeing her brother so emotional, battling the urge to console him. She finally lost control, wrapping her arm around her brother’s shoulders, pulling him in for a hug - as close as her baby bump would allow them to be. “You deserve to be happy, Mick.” She spoke softly, rubbing his back as she felt him tuck his face into her neck. 

Mickey leaned into the embrace and just let himself be. He was flooded with memories of hugging Mandy when she was upset. Their older brothers would have most likely made fun of her - crying was not an option for a Milkovich, even for the girls in the family. She always knew she could come to Mickey though. No matter how much they would antagonize one another from dawn until dark, bickering over the most insignificant things - they always knew when push came to shove, they were there for each other. They had each other's backs. No matter what. 

Eventually, Mickey pulled away and sniffed, rubbing frantically at his eyes. “Alright _Dr. Phil_ , you made your goddamn point.” He grumbled, but squeezed at Mandy’s hand to communicate how much he appreciated the fuck out of her. 

Mickey cleared his throat and thought about Ian again. About how he trusted Mickey enough to tell him things about himself that clearly scared the shit out of him. He felt his heart speed up, and when he glanced back at Mandy, who was simply watching him. Mickey decided that if there was any time to run his thoughts by someone else, it would be now.

“I think I might… fuckin’ _love_ him… or some shit.” Mickey huffed out suddenly. As soon as the words left his mouth, they felt like the most vulnerable things he’d ever said. He fidgeted restlessly, and attempted to qualify his statements. “Ian, I mean. I’ve never felt any of this shit for Clyde. It just scares the hell outta me that I’m movin’ way too fast and I-“ 

“You might- _WHAT_?” Mandy leaned over and smacked Mickey’s cheek playfully. “Say that one more time. I think you hit your head on my shoulder.” She teased with a laugh. 

Mickey rolled his eyes so hard he could almost feel the strain. “If you don’t quit it right _goddamn_ now, I’m gonna clam up and you can just mind your business.” He warned, knowing that it was a hollow threat. Now that everything was out in the open there was no way his sister would just drop it. “I’m just sayin’ that big ginger bastard’s really done a fuckin’ number on me.” Mickey scratched nervously at his arm. “If it wasn’t for him, who knows. Maybe I would’ve just put up with Clyde’s shit until he croaked.” 

“ _MICKEY_ ! That’s a big fuckin deal. I wanna see him, show me a picture! He was always a little hottie, even back when he had those _bangs_.” She chuckled, shaking Mickey’s arm excitedly. 

Mickey groaned, but pulled his phone from his pocket, tilting it away from her slightly until he found the least risqué photo of Ian that he had saved. He felt silly, showing Mandy the picture, but he was curious to see what she should say about Ian. She no doubt remembered the gangly floppy haired ginger kid, and Ian couldn’t have been farther from that now. 

The picture he decided upon was a selfie Ian had taken to show off his face before shaving. Ian was smiling at the camera, the corner of his mouth turned upward in a cocky smirk, and his green eyes were bright and soft. A light layer of blondish-ginger stubble covered the lower half of his face and he wore a light blue button up over a black tank which made each individual freckle pop out. It had become Mickey’s favorite picture of Ian, and he hated to admit it, but he had lost a few hours just staring at it, daydreaming like a schoolgirl. 

“There, knock yourself out…” Mickey hissed, embarrassed by how red his face was becoming from simply glancing at the picture. In his haste, he made the mistake of letting Mandy take his phone from him. 

Mandy’s jaw nearly dropped as she took in the details of the photo. He really was gorgeous, and it now made sense why Mickey had been reeled in so quickly. As she struggled to come up with some sort of compliment that wouldn’t cross some sort of line, a Facetime call popped up on screen from some contact labeled PB. For a split second, Mandy saw herself in the reflection of the screen, and she smirked mischievously. 

“Who’s PB, huh?” Mandy squealed, popping off of the couch as quickly as she could and turning away from her brother so that the phone was completely out of his reach. 

By the time it dawned on Mickey what was happening, it was far too late to intervene. “Mandy! Give it!” He grunted, lunging at his sister. 

Mandy answered the call before Mickey could reach her, practically dancing the phone out of Mickey’s reach.

Ian was standing in his living room, phone propped up against a table lamp, sweating while dressed in nothing but a pair of old gym shorts. He had just finished a workout, just having lowered himself down from the pull-up bar, and he had wanted to update Mickey and maybe stop his boyfriend from worrying. He had been feeling a little better since opening up to Mickey and he was trying to get himself back into his routine. Naturally, Mickey had brushed off the idea of being concerned, but Ian had a hunch that Mickey was just trying not to add to his stress. 

When Ian realized it was not Mickey’s face staring back at him from the screen, he felt his heart drop to the very bottom of his stomach. He was frozen for a moment trying to figure out how the hell to get out of the situation. Finally, he rushed over to his phone and grabbed it, bringing his face - and only his face - into the frame.

“What’s up, Gallagher?” Mandy snorted. “Long time no see! Jesus… puberty sure did a number on you, didn’t it?” 

“Uh… Hi, Mandy.” Ian gave her a nervous smile featuring too many teeth as he scrambled around his apartment, trying to angle the phone away from himself to quickly look for a shirt. He probably should have hung up right away, but it was too late now. “Um… I wasn’t expecting… I just… uh, is Mickey there?” His voice cracked a little, as if channeling the teenage boy he had been the last time Mandy had set eyes on him. 

Mickey was doing his best to wrestle his phone away from his sister, who - despite her condition - was prancing around the room and cackling, just out of his reach. He knew he needed to be careful; this wasn’t like when they were kids and Mickey could piledrive Mandy from the top of the kitchen counter when she innocently walked around the corner. 

“Fuck _off_ , Mandy! Give me...the _cocksuckin’_... phone!” Mickey huffed, trying to corner her, but failing miserably. 

Ian’s face heated up as he heard Mickey fighting for his phone, but Mandy addressed him again before he could comment on it. 

“Where are you sneakin’ off to, Red? Facetime only works if I can see your _face_...” Mandy teased, as she completely lost sight of Ian. He had set his phone down on the nearest surface and booked it to his dryer to hopefully scavenge for a clean shirt. He pulled the shirt down over his head like a madman, audibly stretching out the neck in the process before retrieving his phone. 

“Sorry, I was just uh… getting some water.” Ian lied, as if Mandy couldn’t see the addition of the shirt. _Shit, has Mickey even told her anything yet?_

With Mandy distracted by the screen, Mickey got the upper hand and managed to snag his phone from his sister’s unreasonably strong grip, racing with it to the other side of the room and keeping Mandy at arms length with one hand when she tried to pursue. When he focused, he saw Ian straightening out his shirt and looking at him with wide concerned eyes. 

“Hey,” Mickey panted, smiling despite the chaos. “Uh, so… Mandy knows about us now.” 

“ _Shit_ , ‘cause I called? Fuck man, I’m sorry!” Ian felt panic and shame wash over him, sure that he had messed things up royally. “I’ll go. You talk to her. I’m so fucking sorry, Mick.” With that Ian hung up, smacking his forehead with his palm and then hitting it a few more times with his fist, like he was trying to shake up his brain. _I’m such a fucking screw up_ , he thought plaintively, throwing his phone none too gently down on his kitchen counter, as if trying to get it as far away from him as possible. 

“Fuck!” Mickey crowed, and before he even had time to process what had just transpired, he was calling Ian back. Mandy watched on in bewildered amusement. She knew it was her fault mainly for answering the call and scaring the shit out of his brother’s new love interest, but it had been impossible for her to resist. She was still trying to wrap her head around the fact that _Ian-fucking-Gallagher_ was her brother’s lover. And not only that, but he had gone from boyish and cute, to a ginger Adonis. Mandy was baffled. 

Ian stopped feeling sorry for himself when his phone began vibrating against the counter. He figured it could be Mickey - but it also could be Mandy calling back to interrogate the shit out of him. He weighed his options and hesitatingly answered on the fourth ring. He looked relieved to see Mickey’s face. 

“Don’t hang up on me like that, numbnuts!” Mickey chastised, unable to keep himself from laughing a little at the ridiculousness of it all. “Lemme fuckin’ explain myself. I told Mandy about us like ten minutes ago! You didn’t fuck anything up! She just thought she’d be a smart ass and answer when you called.” Mickey glared at his sister. “Guess she thought it would be funny to scare the living shit out of you or something.” 

“Oh.” Ian flushed at the misunderstanding, sagging against the counter in relief. He relaxed even more upon hearing Mandy laughing in the background. 

“Funny? That shit was _hysterical_.” Mandy chuckled and moved over toward Mickey, tilting her head to the side to catch another glimpse of Ian. “Hi, Iannn.” She gave an enthusiastic wave. 

Mickey watched Ian smile and wave, a little shyly, like he still wasn’t sure whether or not the moment was real. Mickey knew the feeling. It was extremely bizarre - Ian had been such a private and personal part of his life, cut off from the outside world like some sort of paradise island. As it was, Mandy was acting like a bridge, connecting them to the real world. Mickey didn’t exactly hate it. But, it was strange. 

“You just gettin’ home from work? You look a little more red and sweaty than usual,” Mickey snickered. He swiveled and lowered himself back onto Mandy’s couch and sighed when his little sister came trailing behind him, sitting down close enough so that she could lean over and make sure Ian could still see her face. 

“No, uh… I called to tell you that I worked out a little. I’m gonna take a couple days off of both jobs, but I’m feeling better already.” Ian attempted to stay vague, given that Mandy was still present. He got a sudden pang of worry that Mickey had told her about their most recent conversation, but at the same time, he thought maybe he wouldn’t mind if Mickey had. If Mickey needed someone to help him process the whole situation, his sister was probably the best person for the job. 

Mickey felt a little relief trickle through his system. Ian seemed to be doing much better since the last time they’d spoken, and Mickey thought it was definitely a good sign. He had stayed up late after their conversation the night before, Googling bipolar disorder. The last thing he wanted to do was bombard Ian with a shit-ton of questions about his disorder. He knew Google wasn't exactly the most reliable source of information, but Mickey just wanted some sort of clarity. 

Before Mickey could figure out how to respond without embarrassing Ian further, Mandy leaned all the way in, obstructing his view of Ian and positioning herself directly in front of the camera. 

“Damn! This is so weird, Ian. You’ve really grown up, haven’t you?” Mandy hummed and Mickey huffed and rolled his eyes. “Ya know, if I wasn’t happily married and knocked up right now…” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively at Ian.

“D’you have brain damage or something?” Mickey barked. “What part of _gay_ is confusing to you? Move your fat fuckin’ head Mandy!” He shoved her out of the way, and when Ian’s face came back into view, Mickey could see his boyfriend was smiling brightly. 

Mickey’s heart drummed so loud he was pretty sure Mandy could hear it. 

Ian could feel some of his confidence returning. “Yeah, sorry Mandy. I kinda like dick, so I’m gonna stick with _this_ Milkovich, if you don’t mind.” Ian laughed and there appeared to be a bright sparkle in his eye as he looked at Mickey, but maybe it could have just been a reflection. “Just for the record, you look great yourself, Mandy. Where did the pink go?” He pointed to the side of his face, right were Mandy’s streaks used to hang in front of her face. 

“Went blonde when I was like eighteen!” Mandy explained, ignoring her brother completely and inching back towards the camera just enough for the side of her face to make it on screen. “Turns out you need more than just your GED to work with lawyers. You also gotta look the part of a boring tightass.” Mandy shrugged. Mickey figured it was probably a point of pride for Mandy to brag about the whole law school thing. She was just a paralegal, but even that was impressive as fuck considering where she had started back in Chicago. 

“You’re a lawyer?! Holy shit. That’s amazing!” Ian commended her as he propped the phone up against a mug on the counter, assuming the call was going to take longer than he had originally planned. He was partially expecting the third degree from Mandy, but it seemed she was more accepting of the whole thing than Ian had anticipated. 

Mickey snorted loudly. “She ain’t a lawyer! She’s like a lawyer’s secretary, like a little packmule bitch for all the _actual_ lawyers.” 

“Fuck off!” Mandy blindsided Mickey with a couch cushion to the side of his head. “I’m a paralegal, you prick.” She corrected him before returning his attention back to Ian, “My husband, Matteo, is a lawyer.” 

“Damn, so there are two sharks to stay away from, huh?” Ian joked and then tilted his head a little to try to see more of Mickey. 

“That’s right bitches,” Mandy nodded, looking pleased with herself. “Bet you never expected that shit from a Milkovich!” 

Mickey glanced between his sister and his boyfriend as they conversed. He bet there was a lot Ian had never expected from the Milkoviches that he was currently on the receiving end of.

[ ](https://ibb.co/g74qfSg)

“Guess I didn’t.” Ian laughed with her. “By the way, congrats on the baby. Mickey told me you're having a girl. That’s so exciting! Makes me want one of my own some day…” Ian added the last thought and realized at little too late how it sounded. Mickey appeared a little more red in the face and Ian wished he could have taken it back to save him the embarrassment.

“Thanks!” Mandy chirped and elbowed her brother in the ribs. “Hear that Mick? Better go off your fuckin’ birth control and give the man what he wants-”

“Alright! I think that’s enough Mandy for one day,” Mickey turned his body away from his sister, so that he and Ian were staring at one another. He found himself smiling, ignoring the fact that Mandy was attempting to protest no longer being involved in the conversation. “Sorry, man…” Mickey hummed his apology, scratching at the sparse patch of chest hair peeking out of the top of his tank top. “She didn’t get any less annoying since the last time you saw her.” 

“That’s okay, I could say the same about you.” Ian replied playfully, but a moment later, his expression softened like he was made of play-dough. He wanted to _be_ with Mickey. In Chicago or in San Francisco - it didn’t fucking matter where, he just wanted to be in his presence. Nothing else compared. 

“You eat yet?” Mickey blurted. He didn’t want to make a scene but he felt like he needed to check in on Ian, without airing out the man’s business in front of his sister.

“Not yet, haven’t figured out what to eat.” Ian looked around his kitchen. “But I will. I told ya. You don’t have to worry.” He kept his voice just above a whisper so only Mickey would hear. 

“Worry about what?” Mandy asked loudly. Mickey shot her a withering glance. 

“Would you fuckin’ mind your business?” Mickey hissed caustically, before turning his attention back to the screen. “Order something. You’ve earned it.” He chuckled. “Maybe I should let you go, so you can figure that shit out. I promise next time you call I’ll keep this thirsty bitch outta the room so you don’t gotta protect yourself as much.” 

“Don’t worry about it too much.” Ian ran a hand through his hair, feeling the sweat finally beginning to dry. “She’s the last person I need to protect myself from. You’re my people.” He meant it in the broad sense - Mandy was just as Southside as her brother. 

“I like him!” Mandy chimed in with her opinion, uninvited, once again. “I mean, I liked him back when he was _my_ boyfriend too. He’s still got that freaky Gallagher charm.” She grinned up at Mickey, willfully ignoring his scowl.

Mickey felt weirdly affronted by the statements, but he somehow stopped himself from pointing out that Ian was _never_ her fucking boyfriend - she was just his beard. He reminded himself that his sister was joking and he didn’t need to be so damn sensitive.

“Yeah I know,” Mickey responded to Ian instead, making eye contact and feeling his heart start up again like a kick drum. “Plus, I know you can stand up for yourself..” 

They simply stared at each other for a few seconds, smiling, admiring one another. When Mickey’s head returned to earth, he looked up to realize that Mandy was staring at him, grinning like a fool and giving him such a knowing look that Mickey thought he might actually lunge out and strangle her if she wasn’t growing his niece inside of her. 

“Listen man, sorry I gotta keep doing this, but I’m gonna go. We’re… uh… Matteo’s gonna be home soon and I think we’ve got some shit on the go after that.” Mickey waffled through his excuses. The real reason was that he was suddenly feeling majorly overwhelmed by the whole thing. Not only was Ian well and truly settling into the role of _boyfriend_ , but now it wasn’t just the two of them that knew about it. “Plus, you gotta go get some fuckin’ food into you before you waste away to nothing.” He added, one eyebrows raised intimidatingly. 

“Yeah I’ll probably order Chinese from the place next door. It’s my favorite- always makes me feel better.” Ian murmured as his stomach growled. “Talk to you guys some other time. Congrats again, Mandy!” 

When Mickey said his goodbyes and ended the call, he was not at all surprised to glance up and find Mandy still staring at him, still giving him that frustratingly _knowing_ look that made him grind his teeth. 

“The fuck are you lookin’ at?” Mickey demanded, dropping his phone into his lap and crossing his arms. 

“Ohhhh, nothing much.” Mandy hummed innocently, slouching against the couch, rummaging between the cushions until she found the remote she was sure she had somehow lost down there. She selected a show from her _continue watching_ list on Netflix, before pursing her lips into an uncontrollable smile and adding. “You _looooooooove_ him.”

That was the last straw. Mickey had just about had it with all the feelings and emotions for one night. He felt that his defenses had entirely evaporated and Mandy was now staring right at his soft insides - it was enough that she knew they were there, no need for her to _see_ that shit too.

“You are batshit crazy, you know that?” Mickey grunted, pocketing his phone and picking himself off of the couch. “I need a fucking drink. Where’s Matteo keep the good shit.” 

“Bottom cupboard left of the stove. Bring two glasses.” Mandy snickered when she saw her brother's confused look. “Lemme finish. And the apple juice, in the door of the fridge. If I can’t have any booze, I at least want to fuckin’ pretend.”

Mickey snorted and shook his head, continuing on to the kitchen. He had more to process now than ever. But at least someone knew, and didn’t think he was royally fucking up his life. Mickey just hoped his sister was right.

*

###  Sunday Morning

Alice was in the midst of mopping the foyer, dipping her mop into the sudsy bucket, when the doorbell rang. 

It had been a week since Mickey had embarked on his mysterious trip, and he had been popping into her thoughts every once and a while. Despite having caught him red handed with another man nearly two weeks earlier, she found herself still trying to work the whole incident through in her mind. She had long since decided against inserting herself into the situation - so reporting what she had seen to Clyde had never been an option. Not only was it none of her business, but Alice had a distinct feeling that it would put Mickey in harm's way, more so than he had ever been. What sort of harm, Alice wasn’t sure, but she had grown strangely fond of Mickey during the time she had been employed at the house, and so she didn’t care to find out.

These thoughts swirled in her mind as she slowly spread the soapy water around on the flooring, making sure to scrub at each individual tile until it shone in the mid-afternoon sun that was pouring through the windows. When the ring of the doorbell interrupted her, she frowned and glanced towards the door. Clyde hadn’t forewarned her about any guests - in fact he’d barely spoken a word to her when she’d brought him his morning coffee shortly after she’d arrived for her shift. It wasn’t completely unusual behavior; however, Alice sensed something different in the atmosphere. The man looked like he’d hardly been sleeping. Clyde had always been a tidy looking figure, no matter the time of the day or night, but Alice noticed the undeniable dark circles under his eyes, and the fact that his beard - which he normally kept neatly trimmed, had grown out slightly over the week. 

She tried to tell herself that Clyde missed his husband, but Alice had a funny feeling that it was simply not the case. Something else was clearly at work behind the scenes. 

After the bell rang a second time, Alice forced herself to snap out of it and prop her mop up into the bucket before heading over across the expansive foyer to answer the door. She grumbled as she went, stepping lightly over the parts of the flooring she had already mopped. When she pulled the door open, she came face-to-face with a group of three young men, all dressed in a uniform polo shirt with matching logos adorning the right breast pocket. 

_Windy City Security_

“Can I help you boys?” Alice asked brightly, as her mind raced. Security? Perhaps they were at the wrong house. Her boss was a lot of things, but overly cautious was not one of them. It may have been a product of growing up without having to constantly look over your shoulder to see who was out to get you, but Clyde trusted plain old fashioned locks to a fault - especially for someone so obviously wealthy. 

The man closest to her gave a small wave and glanced down at the tablet in his hands before looking back up to address her. “Hello ma’am. We’re with _Windy City Security_ and we have an appointment to install some devices for a… Dr. Clyde Miller?”

 _Devices_? Alice wished they were more specific. “Alright, I’ll go fetch Dr. Miller. You boys can step inside and wait while I-” 

“Alice!” 

She whirled around to see that Clyde was quickly approaching them, looking a bit like he had jogged through the house from the slight red tinge to his face and the heaving of his chest. 

“Oh, Dr. Miller! I was just about to-” 

“Yes, yes, very good. You can go back to… whatever you were doing. I’ll take it from here.” Clyde brushed passed her like she was a ghost - if she had not stepped to the side, Alice was almost certain he would have knocked her out of the way. “Hello there, gentlemen! You’re a tad early…” Clyde greeted the group, and even shook each of their hands, to Alice’s surprise. He was never so pleasant to the average menial laborer. 

_They must have something he really wants_ , Alice mused, as she wandered back over to her mop and bucket. She tried to make less noise, moving the mop slowly over the tiles so that she might be able to overhear their conversation; however, Clyde quickly ushered them back towards his study, save for one man who stepped back outside the house, most likely to retrieve whatever supplies they needed. Moments later, he returned with two large inconspicuous boxes tucked under each arm. She watched as he kicked the door shut behind him and trailed after his co-workers. 

Alice frowned down at her reflection in the water of the mop bucket, watching her expression ripple slightly. Call it her intuition, but she had a bad feeling about whatever devices were being installed, especially considering that the visit nicely aligned with the two weeks Mickey would be out of the house and - conveniently - out of the way. Alice needed to get to the bottom of what was going on, or it would simply bother her relentlessly. 

_So much for not inserting myself_ , she thought, disrupting her reflection by driving the mop into the soapy water. 

*

For the first time, in a long time, Clyde found himself buzzing with excitement. The security company employees had shown up ahead of schedule, and soon his entire house would be under his surveillance, and back in his control. It was refreshing to think that he wouldn’t have to wonder for much longer about his unruly husband’s strange behavior - from the minute Mickey returned from the trip, his every action within the house would be monitored, and Clyde would no longer be in the dark. 

He led the men through to his study, which would serve as their base of operations for the time being. As uncomfortable as it made Clyde to have veritable strangers milling around his office, he knew it would be well worth it in the end. 

“So gentlemen,” Clyde cleared his throat to capture the attention of the three men working steadily at laying out their equipment, “I have here a blueprint of the house, which I’ve marked exactly where I want each camera to be placed.” He handed the paper to one of the men, who inspected intently. 

“Very good, Dr. Miller. My colleagues here are going to begin setting up the cameras right away.” The man - David, Clyde remembered from their brief introductions - gestured to the monitor on his desk. “In the meantime, I’ll hang back and give you a run down of how the cameras work, and exactly how you’ll be able to access them. How does that sound?” 

“Good, good.” Clyde nodded, taking a seat in his captain’s chair and clicking on the camera software he’d been instructed to install on his desktop. “Alright, so I’ll be able to see every camera and all the recorded data on this application?” He asked, looking up at David standing beside him as the other two men from Windy City Security started installing the first camera in the room. 

“Exactly!” David exclaimed enthusiastically. Normally, it would have seemed abrasive to Clyde, but given the circumstances Clyde found himself just as enthused. “It takes only a few seconds to boot up, and- there it is!” David leaned across to reach the keyboard as the software unfolded in front of their eyes. The large screen was instantly consumed with dark boxes.

“You see, each one of these little guys is gonna be connected directly to one of _these_ little guys,” David held up one of the tiny cameras in front of them. Clyde could see that each of the boxes was labeled by a number that corresponded to the cameras he planned on scattering throughout the house. “They’re all blank right now but as soon as they’re connected…” David motioned to his colleagues and within a few seconds, the black box in the left most corner of the screen flickered to life, and Clyde could see the back of his head in HD, on the monitor. 

“Perfect,” Clyde hummed, “And you can guarantee that these cameras will be completely hidden?” 

“Absolutely,” David confirmed. “These bad boys will be totally camouflaged.” 

*

By the time they had moved onto installing the first hallway camera, Alice was waiting out the last few minutes on the oven timer. Clyde had requested a particularly complicated recipe for red wine marinated salmon, and Alice could have sworn she was being kept busy. Luckily, she had been cooking for others since she was a little girl. Alice knew a thing or two about preparation, and therefore the whole process had only taken her half as much time as Clyde had no doubt suspected it to. For her final task before the timer ran out, Alice decided to throw a load of laundry in the washer. 

She went up the steps to the master bedroom and was surprised to find the door slightly ajar as she walked towards it. Glancing in, she noticed a man on a ladder in front of the vent above the walk-in closet. Alice observed his actions as she silently made her way into the room, walking over to the master bathroom to collect the dirty laundry hamper. She saw the man reach into his pocket and pull out a little circular device with a set of wires running out of the back and he set it on the inside of the open vent, where it would be hidden from view, once the vent cover was back in place. She worked hard to keep a look of shock off of her face as she left the room in a hurry. 

Setting the laundry in the washing machine was routine by now, so she let her mind wander as she completed her task. _Could he be installing cameras? To spy on his own household?_

After setting Clyde’s meal in the fridge to be reheated whenever he was ready to eat it, she decided that she was in need of some fresh air to clear her mind. Thankfully, so were the dogs, who were yapping at her feet as she passed their dog beds. She was sure that Mr. Miller had neglected to take them out earlier so she took matters into her own hands and put their leashes on before walking them to the study where Clyde was sitting behind his computer. 

“Dr. Miller?” Alice spoke in a clear and determined tone, ensuring he wouldn’t know her suspicions. However, her eyes fell upon the screen that was a few inches past his head, and on it, she could view herself standing in the room with him, which was enough to cause an instant headache. 

Clyde swiveled in his chair, at the sound of her voice, and Alice watched as surprise registered on his face for a fraction of a second, before his features reverted back to the self-assured expression he typically wore. “Ah yes, Alice,” He addressed her, before turning back to the monitor. “You can bring my meal at any time.” 

“I’ll get right to that sir. I was planning on taking the dogs out for a walk-“ 

“Very good.” Clyde interrupted her yet again, waving her off as he engrossed himself in whatever was on the monitor in front of him. 

Alice decided right then and there that she would not be deterred so easily. 

“Dr. Miller.”

“What is it Alice? I’m very busy at the moment and I-“ 

“I see you had some things installed today.” Alice felt a cold chill run down her spine as Clyde froze mid-click and slowly turned back to face her. “I’m just wondering if there’s anything I should be aware of. Just to keep an eye out.” 

The tension filling the space between Clyde and his employee was visceral, but Alice stood her ground. Clyde’s eyes had gone dark, and Alice wondered absently if it was an expression Mickey had become intimately familiar with during their marriage. 

“If there was anything you needed to know, I would have already told you,” Clyde hissed sharply, making unwavering eye contact with her. “I would suggest you keep whatever you saw here today, to yourself. It would be a shame if your position in the staff suddenly became… _vacant_. I would hate to have to let you go.” 

Alice couldn’t believe her ears, and yet somehow she was not surprised. She gritted her teeth, took a deep breath through her nose, and nodded. “Yes. That would be a shame, sir.” She responded flatly. 

Clyde smiled coldly. “I’m glad we agree.” He hummed, turning back towards the monitors. 

Alice fumed in the doorway for a full minute before turning to do as she was told, and bring her employer his meal. However, if his salmon somehow landed on the kitchen floor before being served to him, she couldn’t necessarily be held responsible. 

After all, the kitchen had yet to be outfitted with cameras, and she planned on having one last hurrah. 

*

###  Monday Night

Ian found himself laying in bed, dressed only in his boxers. His finicky A/C unit was always acting up at the worst of times, and now he was practically roasting. In the silence, after many hours of fussing around his apartment and keeping himself busy, it was impossible to ignore how much he missed Mickey. The FaceTime with Mandy had only served to enhance his intense longing. Every time he thought about how Mickey had gone ahead and put himself on the line once again for their relationship, Ian’s feelings for Mickey deepened exponentially. 

Not only that, but Mickey’s display of devotion had stirred up something _else_ in Ian - and he found himself seconds away from stripping completely naked, for more reasons than just the unbearable heat. 

_That would be the perfect surprise FaceTime call_ , Ian nearly laughed aloud at the thought, but he had definitely learned his lesson about spontaneously calling Mickey. To save himself any further embarrassment, Ian reached for his phone on his bedside table and decided to text Mickey exactly what he wanted - no matter how shamelessly horny it was. 

Ian (9:30): _It’s hot as hell in my apartment and all I can think about it fucking you._

Ian (9:30): _So basically, you need to come back ASAP. I’m sure Mandy will understand if you leave early._

When Mickey felt the soft vibration in his pocket, a smile appeared on his face instantly - it was almost Pavlovian. 

He and Mandy had spent the day in the would-be nursery which had been functioning as his guest room, putting together some of the things she and Matteo hadn’t had time for since they’d bought them months before. It was Mickey's first time assembling a crib, and although they argued and swore at one another like they were trying to break some sort of record, Mickey had to admit that he had fun helping out his little sister. He knew that since she was entering her third trimester she wouldn’t be able to build shit for very much longer, and Mickey wouldn’t always be around to help - so he was just glad to be of service while he could. 

Now, as the sun said it’s final farewell to the horizon, and dusk settled over San Francisco, Mickey sat in a folding chair on the roomy balcony of Mandy’s apartment - feet resting up on the railing in front of him, and a cigarette dangling from between his fingertips. He had been trying to not smoke as much out of consideration for the baby, but he was only fucking human. He could afford slipping out for ten minutes here and there- he was supposed to be relaxing after all. 

Mickey trapped his cigarette between his lips and steadied his laptop on his thighs with one hand, while he used the other to pry his phone out of the pocket of his jeans. 

When he read Ian’s texts, he felt the butterflies flutter as per usual, but in addition, he felt heat stir at the base of his stomach. He’d been jerking off - sure, but he missed Ian’s cock.

Mickey (7:32): _u wanna fuck me, huh?_

Mickey (7:32): _the hell am I gonna tell her? I need to go home for a dick appointment? That’ll go over well._

Ian (9:33): _It’ll be easy. Walk over and say “I need some dick. Bye.”_

Ian (9:33): _I’ll make it worth your while._

Mickey grinned so wide his fucking jaw ached. 

Mickey (7:34): _oh yeah? How ya gonna do that loverboy?_

Ian doesn’t respond with words. Only an image of him holding his hard cock through his boxers.

Mickey (7:35): _Got it. I’ll take a cab to the airport._

Ian (9:35): _I’m so hard, don’t tease me like that._

Ian took a deep breath as he massaged his cock, and decided to take a chance of his own, hoping it would pay off. He knew they had mentioned trying out new things, so he figured he should just go for it.

Ian (9:35): _I know you can’t leave early, so how about you go somewhere private and play with Daddy?_

Mickey went from half mast to a full, throbbing erection. The combination of Ian’s unsolicited picture and the power play was enough to drive him absolutely wild. It was a new frontier of their relationship - uncharted territory. He’s never been all that into the whole “ _daddy_ ” thing… at least not consciously at any rate. Clyde had tried it a few times, only to be met with Mickey’s obstinate objection. Then again, Ian had never said it out loud before, but even just seeing it written and knowing that Ian was the one sending it to him had Mickey skin simmering _all over_ his body. 

Mickey cupped his dick as an unstoppable whimper pushed it’s way past his lips. He needed to get inside - and fast. 

Mickey (7:37): _Gimme a minute_

Mickey (7:37): _Daddy_. 

Even as he typed the word, Mickey could feel himself letting go of his inhibitions. 

Ian (9:38): _I’ll give you three. And then I’ll get started without you._

Ian felt a jolt up his spine as he sent the message, scrolling up to see if his eyes were deceiving him or not. Mickey had just called him daddy - in seriousness, not jest, as far as Ian could tell. Sure, he knew they were both no doubt incredibly horny, but the fact that Mickey was playing along with his game was unbelievably _sexy_. 

Mickey found himself scrambling. He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray Mandy had bought just for him and closed his laptop, using it as a shield to cover himself as he made his journey from the balcony, back inside. Mandy was fast asleep on the couch, slack jawed and drooling, with a rerun of Dr. Phil blasting at twice the necessary volume from the flatscreen. Mickey tried to look anywhere but at his sister as he hurried by, to avoid reminding himself of what a perverted freak he felt like - running through his sister’s apartment with a huge fucking boner. 

Still, Mickey was _excited_. It seemed Ian was feeling well enough to want to fool around, and like hell if he was going to waste the opportunity. Mickey ditched his laptop in the guest room and nearly threw himself into the bathroom directly across the hall - fingers fumbling to lock the door and turn on the exhaust fan, just for the added background noise. 

He sat down on the edge of the bathtub and couldn’t type fast enough. 

Mickey (7:41): _I’m in the bathroom._

Mickey (7:41): _what now?_

Ian (9:41): _you made it just in time. I’m ready too._

Ian couldn’t resist, he sent another picture, this time with his hard cock resting in his palm, shining with lube. He waited a moment or two to let Mickey take in the view, before calling him on FaceTime. 

Mickey swore under his breath when Ian’s dick pic was interrupted by the FaceTime, and he stood, struggling to prop his phone up on the counter against the mirror. Once he was sure his phone was secure, he swiped to answer and when the call connected, Mickey thought for sure he was gonna pass out from the surge to his cock as the last of the blood supply in his body deserted his brain. 

“Hi, _baby_.” Ian practically purred the words, smirking as he laid on his back and held the phone up above him. The camera only managed to capture the top of his abdomen, as he had made the deliberate choice to keep his dick out of view - just to get Mickey even more worked up. The dim lighting in the room caused his hard cock to cast a shadow onto the blank canvas of his stomach, and Mickey could clearly see Ian’s arm moving up and down, slow and steady. It was obvious that Ian was invested in the little game, and it only made Mickey all the more motivated to please him.

“Uh…” Mickey was nearly mesmerized by the sight of Ian’s toned and solid body, and the glimmer of mischievousness in his eyes. He wished he could somehow lean into the screen to get a better view. He licked his lips, realizing what Ian was fishing for. “Hi… _daddy_ …” Mickey could feel his face flushing, heating up like an oven. He _hated_ how much he loved it. It felt so private and intimate, yet not as strange as he had assumed it would be. 

“You like callin’ me that?” Ian asked softly, his hand slowing almost subconsciously. He could see from the very noticeable bulge in the front of Mickey’s jeans, that his boyfriend wasn’t exactly turned off by the whole situation - but at the same time he figured he should check in, without bulldozing the moment.

Mickey shrugged, and bit the inside of his lip. “I dunno... I can get into it. It’s a little new...” He looked into Ian’s eyes and saw them searching for something more. “Gotta say though, it’s turning me the fuck on right now…” Mickey backed up slightly, so his thighs were in view, and reached down to rub his hard cock through his jeans. 

Ian’s eyes were trained on Mickey’s hand, and all other thoughts went out the window as he watched Mickey stroke himself. “ _God_ , you’re so fucking hot...” Ian blurted, surprising himself slightly. 

Mickey chuckled at the candor of the moment. “Back at ya,” He murmured teasingly. “Now, how about show me what’s goin’ on down there.” Mickey nodded towards the spot where Ian’s arm disappeared from view. “Feels like I’m missin’ the show…”

Ian chuckled and tilted his camera down slowly until his cock came into frame, inch by glorious inch, conveniently hiding the blush that was blooming across his cheeks. “Good thing you waited for instructions… now, how about you strip for me?” 

Mickey had about a million come-backs, but instead of voicing any of them, he wordlessly began to do as Ian had requested. He had a feeling that obedience would work out better for him, given the long-distance nature of their communication. Firstly, he pulled his polo over his head and discarded it, followed swiftly by his jeans, which he stepped out of, taking his socks with them as they went. Finally, Mickey hooked his fingers in the sides of his light grey boxer briefs. When he looked down and saw a small wet spot in the fabric, Mickey nearly rolled his eyes at himself. His cock was already weeping precum, just from the anticipation of it all. 

Mickey gave Ian a wicked smile. “When you say strip… you mean everything, right?” He teased, slipping the waistband down past his hip bones, letting the barest hint of his happy trail show before snapping them back up into place. He figured he might as well have some additional fun if Ian was going to get to play the role with all the power - as much as Mickey loved to give up control, he still liked to be reminded of what he was capable of from time to time. 

“Obviously,” Ian replied immediately, a stern look crossing his features when the camera panned back up to his face. “That ass is _mine_ , after all. I think I deserve to see it.” He raised a challenging eyebrow at Mickey, as he shimmied up in bed and bent forward, abandoning his dick for just long enough to figure out where to prop his phone. Even as he struggled, he couldn’t take his eyes off of Mickey, who was pursing his lips like the fucking brat he was. “You got five seconds, or else I’m hanging up. One…” 

Mickey held out until the last second, but finally broke, slowly sliding the briefs down his pale thighs, causing his cock to spring out of the fabric when it finally passed by the elastic, smacking against his stomach before bobbing slightly, as if for Ian’s ultimate entertainment. 

“Hmm… took a whole five seconds for you to listen to Daddy...” Ian finally settled his phone down against the lamp on his nightstand, and returned to stroking himself with twice the vigor as before at the sight of Mickey’s naked body. “ Looks like we’re gonna have to do some serious _training_ when you get back from your little trip. Some handcuffs and a paddle might just do the trick.” Ian hummed, adjusting his body so he was sitting up on his knees, making sure every part of him was visible to Mickey.

Mickey heard himself moan softly, and the sound nearly caught him by surprise. He hadn’t known Ian was so… kinky. He absolutely should have guessed, based on their previous encounters but - _fuck_. Mickey gripped the base of his cock and watched the small screen, taking in every square inch of Ian’s body. He had been missing Ian before, but now the need to be with the man was increasing by the second, spreading through him like a brush fire. 

“ _Training_?” Mickey took his hand from his cock long enough to spit in his palm and begin to stroke himself slowly. “What am I, hm? A fuckin’ dog?” 

“Yup. You’re my little bitch.” Ian replied smugly, adding some more lube onto his palm and matching the pace Mickey had set for himself, too painfully hard to consider chastising him for not waiting for permission to touch himself.

Mickey snorted, but continued stroking himself, twisting his wrist along his length and planting himself in the spot, spreading his thighs slightly to keep his balance as he focused on the intense pleasure. “Hmmm we’ll see about that…”Mickey growled, sliding his hand up to his left pec to pinch his own nipple, pretending it was Ian’s hand instead. 

Ian whined at the sight, “Ay who said you can do that? I have a better job for that hand of yours.”

With an exasperated grunt, Mickey lowered his hand from his chest. “Oh yeah? Why don’t you fuckin’ tell me then?” 

Ian arched his brow at Mickey’s tone, but chose to bark an order instead of reprimanding him. “Bring your hand up to your mouth,” Ian commanded, and felt his stomach pinch with excitement and lust when Mickey complied without question. ”Now suck on those two fingers. Get ‘em nice and wet...” He swallowed thickly, reaching down to massage his balls with his other hand as he continued to jerk off. 

Mickey didn’t hesitate, inserting his index and middle finger directly into his mouth, maintaining unwavering eye contact with Ian as he sucked and licked at them, covering them thoroughly with saliva. They’d barely begun and Mickey already found himself overwhelmed by how hot the whole situation was.

“Mhm, _good boy_.” Ian praised, twisting his wrist to the base of his cock. He made a point to move his dominant hand slowly up and down his entire length - all nine hard inches of him. He was practically drooling himself as he watched Mickey suck on his own fingers, nearly gagging himself a few times just for show.

Mickey nearly forgot that his mouth was full and tried to respond, but all that escaped him was a muffled whine. Eventually he slid his fingers out from between his lips, pleased at the shine on his digits. “Now what, _Daddy_?” He murmured, more confidently this time. As if he didn’t know exactly where his fingers would be going. 

“Gonna walk you through fingering yourself, baby. Go ahead, start rubbing a finger around that tight little hole.” Ian basically moaned through his answer, drunk on the sight of Mickey’s wet fingers and the submissive language - the polar opposite of the Mickey he had grown so attached to. He had wanted to try out this particular kink for a while, but he had always chickened out at the last second - afraid of weirding his partner out. Somehow Mickey had made him feel secure enough to just go for it, and the results were proving to be _spectacular_.

Mickey didn’t need any more encouragement as he leaned back against the bathroom wall, pushing his hips forward and reaching back to grant himself access. He didn’t miss a beat as he continued to play with himself - squeezing his fist around the tip of his cock and slowly circling his hole as Ian had instructed. It was amazing the way such a light touch had him practically strung out and seeing stars, and as tempting as Mickey found it, he was determined not to push the finger into himself until Ian gave him the go-ahead. 

“Just like that.. feels good, hm?” Ian let out a stilted moan, thrusting into his own hand as if it were Mickey instead. “Turn around. Let Daddy see.” He already found himself so goddamn close to the edge - it never took much to push him there when he was with Mickey, and the same principles held true long-distance. As Mickey swiveled and spread his legs a bit wider, giving Ian the view he was after, it was becoming impossible to deny. 

“I’m getting close, Mick. Wanna watch you fuck yourself for me. Go slow… want you to be nice and tight for me when I finally get my hands on you.” Ian coached, panting as he set a hand on the bed in front of him and balanced all of his weight on it. The new position had him jacking off in a downward motion, and when he looked down he could see a small puddle of precum forming on the sheets, dripping from his tip in a steady stream. 

Mickey strained to look over his shoulder, but it had become impossible with his back turned. He arched his back and carefully pushed a single spit slicked digit into his hole. He was fucking tight from a week of no action - Mickey hadn’t bothered with anything more than a five minute jerk off in the shower since he’d arrived. He wiggled the finger in all the way up to the knuckle, finding his prostate and barely brushing against it. When he did, Mickey’s knees almost buckled and he had to brace himself against the wall before he could balance himself enough to go back to jacking himself off. 

“No fuckin’ fair…” Mickey whimpered as he went to town on himself, pushing his ass backward and dragging the finger in and out of his tight entrance. “I can’t see you.” And _fuck_ , he wanted to see Ian. He’d managed to get a glance at Ian’s change of position as well as the desperate expression on his boyfriend’s face, and it was killing Mickey not to be able to watch the show. 

“M’ sorry,” Ian relented. “Turn sideways and look at me, _baby_ . Then- _ah_ !- add another finger, and don’t hold back. Want… you to come with me.” He let out a whine then, bowing forward slightly. “Fuck, Mick, _hurry_! Add another finger, right fuckin’ there...”. 

Mickey didn’t think he’d ever jerked himself off faster - he knew he was being rough with himself as he tugged on his cock and rammed his finger inside. Mickey twisted, bending to insert his second finger, sliding it into the tight ring beside the first. His eyes rolled back in his head but he managed to pry them open again, and stared intently at Ian, who’s red face and blurred knuckles telegraphed that he was holding back with everything he had - trying to be patient and wait for Mickey. Mickey fucked himself hard and fast, each hand completing a different task, but both getting him where he needed to be. 

“Fuck! _Daddy_ !” Mickey shouted as his fingers drove deep into his hole and located his prostate. He momentarily forgot himself, and that few walls separated him from listening ears. There was no time to care - Mickey was cumming, pushing his hips forward, slack jawed and tense all at once. “Mmmmph! _Ian!_ ” He groaned, as he moved his hand along his sensitive length, milking every last drop out onto the bathroom floor. 

“ _Mick_!” Ian gasped as he came in his hand, the contents spilling over onto his bedsheets. His mouth continued to hang open as he watched Mickey’s beautiful face contort from the pleasure. He _loved_ the way Mickey’s nose scrunched up right before he came, he _adored_ the smooth arch of Mickey’s body, and he was _enamored_ by the sound of Mickey saying his name at the peak of pleasure. 

Mickey slumped back against the wall, shutting his eyes to stop his world from spinning out of control. When he opened them again, Ian was staring at him, as out of breath and giddy as Mickey was himself. Mickey smiled softly at his lover, only until reality came back to him. He glanced down at the floor, following the trail of cum along the floor tiles, leading up to a few sticky streaks already sinking into Mandy’s light purple bath mat.

“Oh _Jesus_ …” Mickey groaned and dropped to his knees, effectively disappearing from Ian’s view in order to inspect the bathmat. “Can’t catch a fucking break, can I?” He muttered. If that shit stained, it would be _very_ noticeable. 

“What happened?” Ian grabbed for his phone as he collapsed on his back, laying to the left of the mess he’d made on the bed, catching his breath. He told himself he would have to change the sheets before he slept, but the chances of him actually going through with it were growing slimmer by the second. 

Mickey’s head popped up over the top of the counter top, back into the view of his camera. “I jizzed all over my sister’s bathmat, that’s what fucking happened!” Mickey hissed, his voice sounding partly panic stricken, partly amazed at his shitty luck. “Can we just for once do something involving our dicks that doesn’t end in us destroying other people’s shit? Is that so difficult, Ian?” 

Ian nearly choked on his laughter as he watched his boyfriend flip out.

Mickey snatched the spare roll of toilet paper sitting on the counter and disappeared once more, ripping a wad of it from the roll and balling it up in his fist, attempting to dab away the evidence. “Fuck my fuckin’ life…” He grumbled. 

“Hey, I had nothing to do with it this time,” Ian shrugged defensively. “That was all you, _baby_.” He added playfully, trying to stop his face from heating up anymore than it already was. “If it’s any consolation, I’d help you clean it up if I was there.” He yawned loudly and curled up on his side, cradling a pillow. “Also, we didn’t break anything when we fooled around in that bathroom stall, ya know. Not even a belt or anythin’. That’s what I call an accomplishment.” 

Mickey popped his head over the counter top once more, just to shoot Ian a deadpanned glare before grabbing the phone and bringing it down with him, propping it up against the side of the toilet so that Ian could see what was going on. “You need to cool it with the _baby_ shit when we’re not in the middle of banging, Gallagher. I’m gonna start thinkin’ you like me or somethin’...” 

_I fucking_ **_love_ ** _you_ , Ian wanted to say. There it was on the tip of his tongue again, threatening to explode out of him without warning. “I do. I like you a whole lot, _babycakes_ … not that there’s anything small about your _cakes_.” He winked at his own cringe-worthy pun, knowing how much it would piss Mickey off. Before Mickey could yell at him, he relented. “Okay, okay, if you don’t like it, I’ll kick the habit by the time you get back.” 

“Didn’t say I didn’t like it…” Mickey hummed, sitting back to look at the smudged cum stain, mashed into the bathmat. “You just remind me of one a’ those kids who plays with their favorite toy so much they fuckin’ bust it.” Mickey smirked up at his boyfriend, unable to stay concerned about the mess when he was looking into Ian’s eyes. 

Ian’s eyes turned soft and he wanted to reach out to Mickey, grab him and pull him through the screen. He didn’t know how it had happened so quickly, but Mickey had become his favorite person, and was determined to never break him. “Yeah, I was definitely _that_ kid. Got good use out of my toys though... loved them.” He added, wondering how much more obvious he could be. “Never wasted a thing and always appreciated what I had. Just like now. With you.” He smashed one side of his bright red face into his pillow and closed his eyes, too nervous to wait for Mickey’s reaction. 

If they had been together in person, it would have been the point at which Mickey would have shoved Ian, playing off his embarrassment and nerves. As it was, all Mickey could do was hold his breath and flick the back of his phone inconspicuously, causing it to land face down on the tile. He gave himself a moment to breathe and regain his composure before reaching for the phone and propping it back up, clearing his throat. “Shit, sorry.” Mickey mumbled. “Dropped my phone.” 

Ian didn’t really believe him, but he himself was a shy, blushing mess. He felt so deeply for Mickey, it was hard to blame the man for being overwhelmed by the attention. As his thoughts started to drift, spiralling with the heat and general exhaustion, all Ian could think about was holding Mickey - kissing him, cuddling him, drowning him in attention until he got used to it. “Shit, I’m tired.” Ian mumbled into the pillow, before letting out another unsuppressable yawn, causing his vision to blur. 

“You better get some sleep then, freckles.” Mickey offered.

“Don’t wanna… wanna talk to you.” Ian huffed, struggling to pry his eyes open. “I shoulda got all horned up earlier so we could talk for longer. I’ll stay on with you until you… finish cleaning.” 

Mickey chuckled and wrapped some more toilet paper around his hand before bringing it back down to wipe up the remaining mess. “Shoulda thought about that before you wore yourself-,” Mickey glanced up when he heard the soft snore carry through his phone speakers. 

Although Ian’s phone had dropped from his grip, it was still somehow balanced upright, resting against the pillow next to him. The shifted angle caused the majority of his pale body to fill the screen, his chest rising and falling seamlessly as he completely lost himself to slumber.

Mickey’s sigh melted into a smile as he watched his boyfriend sleep peacefully for at least a minute more as he finished up his hamfisted attempt to clean his sister's bath mat. It occurred to him that it might have been construed as creepy, but the moment was just too peaceful to part with. Eventually, Mickey made the decision to hang up, but he lingered over the ‘end call’ button for a few more seconds just to be sure that Ian was well and truly asleep. 

“Sleep tight, Red…” Mickey whispered, feeling silly as soon as he did so, and ended the call. 

*

Against all better judgement and after ages of failing to completely remove the dark spot from the bathmat, Mickey had simply rolled it up and tossed it under the cabinet below the sink, as far back as he could get it. He could only hope that Mandy wouldn’t notice it was gone until he left, and that she would never fucking bring it up to him as long as they lived. 

Mickey had woken Mandy up from her nap by pelting her with a throw pillow and demanding they watch something other than Dr. Phil, before his brain dried up completely. A few hours into the siblings’ binge of Ghost Adventures, Matteo arrived home from work. 

He kissed Mandy quickly on his way to the living room, intercepting her waddle to the fridge for yet another snack. It had been another arduous day at the office, fighting other people’s battles for them, but Matteo found himself excited by the little piece of news he had to share with his brother-in-law.

“Hey, man!” Matteo greeted, shrugging off his suit jacket and loosening his tie in a practised way, making it obvious that it was a near daily routine for him. He plopped down in the armchair adjacent to the couch and smiled at Mickey expectantly. 

“Hey,” Mickey spared a glance up from his laptop, which he’d been periodically working on as he and Mandy relaxed together, and immediately noticed the jolly expression on Matteo’s face. “Uh, what’s up?”

Matteo kicked off his loafers and propped his legs up on the coffee table, crossing them at the ankle. “ Remember that case I told you about- you know, the Vision Tech one?” He waited for Mickey to acknowledge that he remembered. When he had discovered Mickey’s interest in coding, Matteo had explained that he was currently employed by one of the largest tech firms in San Francisco as part of their copyright and patent protection team. 

Mickey nodded. He vaguely recalled the conversation, although most of the law jargon had gone completely over his head. 

Matteo pressed on. “Well anyway, I made friends with some of the folks on the creative team for some of their bigger projects. One of my pals, Amina, has some paperwork to drop off tomorrow night, and I was thinking about inviting her to stay for dinner so you could ask her questions about that project you’ve been working on!” 

It took Mickey a few minutes to mull over all the information he had been presented with. “Oh...uh, thanks man, but I don’t need any help.” He brushed away the offer awkwardly. “This shit ain’t serious, I’m just sorta fuckin’ around here. It’d be a waste of her time.” 

“Alright, well it’s up to you. Just thought I’d offer if you wanted to show it to someone who would get what you were going for. You’ve been spending a lot of time working at it and… I dunno. Might be worth pursuing as more than a hobby.” Matteo tried to hide it, but Mickey could tell he was a little disappointed that his enthusiasm wasn’t shared. “Amina’s been at the helm of a bunch of the firm's most successful projects, backing indie game startups, creating completely new character model softwares, stuff like that. Could come in handy…”

Mickey couldn’t help but find the man’s persistence admirable. Matteo really was a good guy, and he meant well, there was no doubt about it. Finally, Mickey shrugged. “I mean, it’s your fuckin’ house. Have whoever you want over.” 

Matteo recognized the classic Milkovich deflection. He decided to take the statement as a soft _go-ahead,_ and to run with it. He laughed and rose from his seat, clapping Mickey’s back as he passed, on his way to go pester his wife in the kitchen. “Yeah, okay Mick.” He conceded. 

* 

###  Tuesday Afternoon

The next day, shortly after Matteo arrived home from the office, Amina came knocking at the apartment door, carrying briefcase overflowing with disorganized paperwork, and a tray of admittedly store bought cupcakes. She was bubbly and pleasant as she greeted Mickey, and he was a little surprised to see her hug Mandy like they were old friends, despite it being only the third they had met in person - according to his sister. 

“When he said she was in the tech business, I didn’t picture her being so… _normal_. Thought she was supposed to have those big fuckin’ Urkel glasses or somethin’.” Mickey whispered to Mandy, shortly after Matteo had felt them in the kitchen set off to give his guest the official apartment tour. Amina was downright stunning - tall and willowy, with whip-straight dark hair that fell to her waist and mocha colored skin. Mickey had never been remotely attracted to women, but even he could see the appeal. 

Mandy scoffed and shoved at his chest. “Fuck you, pretty women can be smart!” 

“Oh shit, then what happened to you?” Mickey chuckled, and managed to duck when a plastic spatula came flying past his head. “Oh suck it up, bitch it was _half_ a fuckin’ compliment!” He cackled. 

Matteo heard a clattering in his kitchen and ushered Amina into his home office. “Ignore them, they only know how to show affection by throwing shit at one another.” He was partially joking - it did seem to be one of the standout Milkovich family traits, but it was probably best to leave Amina in the dark about it. 

“I totally get it! I grew up with brothers and I still have nightmares.”Amina laughed right along with him and walked into his office. She took the empty seat across from his desk and pulled a manila folder out of her briefcase after fishing around to find it for several moments.

“So you were telling me your brother-in-law is the one working on that game?” Amina questioned, flipping through the folder to make sure that all of the correct paperwork was present before handing it over to Matteo. “Mickey, right?”

Matteo slid into his own office chair and accepted the folder. “Yeah, that’s him. But try not to be too forward about it, he’s a little skittish about the whole concept of ‘ _accepting help from others_ ’.”

Back in the kitchen, Mickey had returned to typing away at his laptop, watching Mandy whiz around. She had offered to cook dinner for the four of them, despite not being much of a chef, and the gentle protests of both her husband and her brother. 

“Are you just gonna watch me or are you gonna offer to fuckin’ help?” Mandy groused. 

“Oh yeah, sure.” Mickey picked his phone up from the counter. “What number do I call for pizza again?” 

Mandy scouted around for ammunition before she grabbed the Bounty paper towel roll off of the counter and threw it at Mickey’s head, laughing victoriously as it bounced off of his forehead and onto the floor. She turned back to the stove and stirred her pasta sauce, before lifting the pot of pasta to strain it in the sink. It was a Ukranian recipe that she had learned a few years prior after an informative stint on _ancestry.com_ , and it was her favorite dish to make - regardless of the sometimes questionable results.

Mickey scowled and reached down to retrieve the roll. “Learn how to take a joke!” He grunted, before whiffing the paper towel back in the direction it had come from. Much to his disappointment, the projectile missed Mandy entirely, knocking over a few jars and knick knacks on the countertop instead. 

Matteo flipped through the paperwork and checked for signatures on all the designated spots. “Looks good.” He said finally.

“Perfect! Thanks again for inviting me over, by the way. I’ve been spending so much time at the office it’s starting to feel like I live there.” Amina chuckled, but she glances sharply towards the hallway when she hears another commotion from the direction of the kitchen. 

“I agree, it’s nice to do things outside of work too sometimes,” Matteo conceded. “Now we better get back out there before they have a chance to throw anything else at one another. They’re less likely to do it in the presence of company.” 

True to form, both siblings pretended like nothing uncivilized was happening, as soon as Mandy spotted her husband and guest entering the kitchen. 

“Perfect timing, dinner is almost ready! Matty, offer Amina a drink!” Mandy harped. She was trying to be a good host, but it was proving to be difficult with the useless men in her life.

“Better do what she says or she’ll fuckin’ throw something at you… I learned that shit the hard way,” Mickey muttered under his breath, earning a glare from his sister and a giggle out of the guest. 

“It’s out of affection, or so I’ve heard.” Amina joked, seamlessly joining in on the fun as she pointed to the Sprite out of the two soda options Matteo held up for her to choose from. 

Matteo closed the fridge door, bringing the Sprite with him, along with two beers, and Mandy’s bottle of water. He slid a beer across the island to Mickey and gave a nondescript hand signal for Amina to sit on the barstool next to Mickey when he passed her the soda. 

Mickey closed his laptop and accepted the beer, eyeing Amina’s drink suspiciously as he tilted his head back. “What, she’s not good enough for a beer?” Mickey asked Matteo, gesturing with the bottle in his hand to the Sprite. 

“I know _my_ friend doesn’t drink, so _no_ I didn’t offer her one.” He shook his head at Mickey’s shitstirring. “Goddamn, Milkoviches! Let me live.” Matteo groaned dramatically, as he passed the water bottle off to his wife.

Mickey shrugged and chuckled, noticing that Amina was eyeing his laptop. He knew Matteo had told his colleague about the _thing_ he was creating, but the idea that someone who worked for such a well established company would take an interest in the dinky little game he was piecing together seemed absurd. He was hoping she’d leave it alone. 

Truthfully, Mickey hadn’t spent much time on the project since Saturday. He was too busy thinking about Ian - _missing_ him, really. It had been nearly an entire day without a message or a call. Mickey told himself not to let his mind run wild - to suck it up and let Ian just do his own thing. Yet ever since the whole “bipolar” discussion, Mickey found himself inadvertently worrying just a little more. 

“So what are you working on? Matteo mentioned you’ve just picked up coding.” Amina turned towards him a little. Matteo had instructed her not to be too forward, however she had never been one to hold back - it was precisely the quality that had given her a leg up on the competition in such a male-dominated field. 

“Oh… uh yeah. It’s just a hobby I guess,” Mickey cleared his throat awkwardly. “No big deal.”

“Yeah? I remember when I took my first coding classes. I had an awesome professor, but he threw a bit of a curveball for our final project.” Amina recounted, without prompting. We had to make a completely text based game. You know, like those old RPGs that came out back when dinosaurs roamed the earth? I remember it being so fucking difficult, especially when you only know, like, three commands! I _lived_ in the tutoring center for the end of that semester.”

Mickey’s eyebrows nearly leapt off of his forehead at hearing Amina’s story. He hadn’t been expecting her to say something so utterly relatable. Mickey warred with himself for a moment, but ultimately decided to put the conversational skills he had learned over the years in the Northside to some sort of use. 

“That’s funny actually. That’s… sorta the type of thing I’m workin’ on right now.” Mickey took another long sip of his beer. Alright, maybe even years of being forced to mingle with the elite would never make him a star conversationalist, but it was the effort that counted, dammit!

“Yeah? Well if you have any questions I might remember a thing or two. That exam traumatized me, so I’d like to be able to use that knowledge for good, at some point before I die.” Amina snickered.

Matteo was smiling widely, silently glancing between the two of them. They seemed to be clicking more than he could have anticipated. 

Mickey hadn’t wanted to get sucked into it, but Amina seemed like she might actually know a thing or two that could be useful for him. “Listen, how ‘bout I get a few more beers in me and _then_ we’ll talk.”

“Deal!” Amina agreed.

Mickey had meant to let the conversation drop off, but found he had one more question to pose. “Where’d you go to school anyway?” 

“Berkeley, but I barely scraped through by the skin of my teeth.” Amina shrugged and sipped her soda. “Took a lot of tech classes, a few business classes, and now here I am seven years later - still learning on the job.” 

Mickey swallowed a large gulp of beer all at once, wincing at the unpleasant sensation. He shifted a little. He didn’t know much about universities or colleges, even now - he hadn’t needed them to get ahead in the world. He’d gotten his GED after nearly two years of Clyde haranguing him day and night, and it had been good enough. 

“Shit…” Mickey nodded appreciatively. “Berkeley’s no fuckin’ joke.” 

“All it means is that I did well in high school.” Amina commented casually. She knew that the name of such a prominent school typically had people feeling a little intimidated whenever she mentioned it. 

“You have no clue what that feels like, do ya Mick?” Mandy chimed in cheekily and Mickey flipped her the bird almost subconsciously. 

“You’re one to talk,” Mickey scoffed. “There was only one thing you did well in high school, and they didn’t give out scholarships for that shit!” He hollowed his cheek and mimed a blowjob, causing Mandy to haul back threateningly with the cheese grater - ready to let it fly and beam her brother in the head. 

Matteo rolled his eyes, and put his hand up to cover Mickey from his view. “That’s my wife you’re talking about! Time to change the subject!” 

As the conversation drifted away from his interests and onto matters of work and life, Mickey found himself surreptitiously checking his phone for the millionth time that night. Still no word from Ian. Ultimately, he decided that he didn’t give a shit if he seemed needy, and fired off a few quick messages. 

Mickey (7:24): _Hey u_

Mickey (7:24): _just checkin in. Would u believe I’m sitting here with some bitch who graduated from Berkeley?_

Mickey (7:25): _I mean bitch is the nicest possible way. She seems alright so far._

To his surprise, Ian’s response arrived about a minute later. 

Ian (7:26): _The alternative would be to not call her a bitch. Dunno, just a thought._

Mickey (7:27): _That ain’t how I roll and you fuckin’ know it._

 _He’s alive at least_ , Mickey thought, feeling more relieved than he would ever admit. 

“Alright guys, slops up!” Mandy announced suddenly, interrupting Mickey’s train of thought. “Everybody go find a spot at the table!” 

Ian (7:28): _I do. That mean you call me a bitch too?_

Ian poked fun at Mickey with another teasing text. He had wanted to message Mickey all day, but he’d restrained himself in an attempt to give Mickey some space. He was missing Mickey like crazy since he had fallen asleep on him the night before, but he figured he should try to let Mickey enjoy his last few days with Mandy without interruption. 

Mickey (7:28): _Never to ur face._

Mickey (7:29): _Well, sometimes to ur face…_ 😏

*

Shortly after Mickey cleared his plate of food and polished off his third bottle of beer, Mandy was on him like a hawk, pointing back to the kitchen where his laptop lay waiting. “Show Amina your game now, Mick!” She demanded, tired of dancing around the subject.

Mickey somehow restrained himself from groaning out loud. He had sort of been hoping that the whole thing would be forgotten about or dropped. He had listened to his brother-in-law and their guest go on and on about both business and pleasure as they ate Mandy’s surprisingly edible dinner, and Mickey had mostly kept his mouth shut. Once again he had found it a million times more comfortable than spending any time with Clyde’s friends - at least he wasn’t being pressured into saying something witty or charming, or to perform like a dancing monkey, to show like he knew more than he did about a specific topic. 

“Christ, give a guy a chance to finish chewing, would ya?” Mickey growled. 

“Nah,” Mandy shook her head, making the effort to haul herself up and retrieve his laptop for him. “Amina, I managed to get him to tell me a little bit about it, but I didn’t really understand it, so maybe you’ll be better at explaining it. He has trouble with words.” She teased, sticking her tongue out at her brother as waddled back over with his laptop under her arm. 

Mickey found himself - for once in his life - without a comeback. He was overtaken by the nervous jitters so suddenly that all of his usual obnoxious retorts escaped him. He simply accepted the laptop and set it down on the table in front of him, wiping his sweaty palms on his pant legs before opening up the device. There were few things that’s totally frazzled Mickey anymore, and apparently, an expert looking at his stupid hobby was one of them. 

“Alright, it ain’t much but…” Mickey brought the screen to life, back to what he had been working on. “It’s just your standard text based RPG, I guess.”

“Which again is _incredibly_ difficult to make.” Amina replied encouragingly. “Let’s see what you got.”

“I wanna see too!” Matteo stood and brought his chair around to the end of the table, as Mandy lowered herself into the seat right next to Mickey. 

Mickey swallowed. He hadn’t been prepared for an audience. But he found once he started showing Amina, he gained a bit more confidence each time she nodded along in understanding, or piped up with some sort of compliment about his choices. 

“You probably don’t need me to explain it to you,” Mickey shrugged, booting up the programs built-in game simulator and running through a few of the coded scenarios he had been working on. “But I’ve got it rigged up so you just enter a word and the game sorta comes up with shit as it goes. Like here, when you’ve got a big fuckin’ demon chasin’ you through the woods you can just-“

“You gotta fight back!” Mandy exclaimed out of nowhere. “Take out your glock or somethin’ and nail him in the head!” 

Amina gave Mandy a look of surprise, clearly not expecting the outburst. 

“You ain’t got a glock, dipshit!” Mickey spat, annoyed at being interrupted. “Look it says right on the side there, the only weapons you’ve got are your boomerang, bow and arrow, and-“ 

“A sword!” Matteo interjected, seeming a little too excited about the prospect. “Swing your sword at him!” 

Mickey obliged, typing the command _USE SWORD_ into the available text box. Milliseconds later, a paragraph popped up on screen, explaining that the demon was too jacked from bench pressing thousands of human corpses, and so the sword unfortunately shattered the moment it made contact with it’s demon abs. Mickey held back a laugh - he remembered that specific command because Ian had helped him come up with it during one of their late night phone conversations. 

Amina and Matteo laughed at the response on the screen, appreciating the humor. 

“SEE! That’s why you should’ve given him a glock!” Mandy screamed, convinced that her choice was superior, smacking the back of Mickey’s head lightly. 

“Hmmm… I’d say bow and arrow next, if we get another shot.” Amina thought long and hard about her answer. “‘Cause you could just shoot him in the eye right? All these big bad bastards usually have a weak spot.” 

Mickey nodded along. “Give it a try!” He offered, shuffling his chair to the side to give Amina some room. 

Amina brought her chair closer to the laptop and typed in _USE BOW AND ARROW_ and cheered victoriously as the following text box indicated that the arrow pierced through the demons left eye, causing it to stumble back into the pit of hell _from whence it came._

“Hell yeah, that motherfucker is _dead_!” Mandy pumped her fist in the air, bolting up from her seat as quickly as a heavily pregnant woman can manage. She reached out to Amina for a high-five. 

“You need to calm your tits, lady.” Mickey shook his head. “That kid’s gonna come out upside down and cross eyed if you keep shakin’ it around like that.” 

“Must be what happened to you, huh?” Mandy quipped. 

Amina read the next sequence aloud. “The redheaded prince continues on his quest, coming to a river-crossing. Should he take the left or right path? Ummm… right.” She commented before typing in the command. 

“ _REDHEAD_?!” Mandy shrieked. She turned on Mickey, quick as a shot, before remembering that she had promised not to say anything to anyone. “I… uh… used to date a redhead. Before Matteo.” She sat down quickly, the wind knocked from her sails. 

Mickey grimaced. “Sorry about her,” Mickey apologized mockingly. “All those hormones are really fuckin’ with her brain.” He was suddenly sweating profusely. He glanced at Mandy and silently berated her, thrown off his game completely. 

“No worries. I’ve been known to fall for a redhead or two myself. I said it as a teenager, and I’ll say it again, Ed Sheeran has my whole heart.” She laughed and continued with the game. When no one said anything, she glanced up from the laptop. “You know, the singer… Ed Sheeran. Won a bunch of Grammys for his music?” 

Mickey grinned and nodded along nervously, feigning any sort of knowledge of what she was talking about. Outside of classic rock and death metal, Mickey had never been all about that weepy romantic bullshit. “Right yeah, that was the main inspiration. Ed… Sheeran.” Mickey murmured. 

Mandy was just barely able to hold back her laughter. 

*

Since he’d only had one beer, Matteo refused to let Amina take an Uber home, offering to give her a drive home when the evening came to a natural close. Mandy only managed to wait until the exact second the door had closed behind her husband and their guest before pouncing on her brother, both literally and verbally. 

“You big fuckin _softie_!” She screamed, and Mickey was sure Matteo and Amina could hear them down in the parking garage. “You put Ian in your game! Which is very fucking cool by the way.” 

True to form, Mickey brushed over the compliment and tried to make a hasty escape. “First off, bitch, I’m _sensitive_. Not soft. Second, I gotta go take a wicked piss, so if you’ll excuse me-” He stood from the couch where they had migrated about an hour before, attempting to push past his sister to book it into the bathroom. 

Mandy stuck her arm out and stopped him in his tracks - she’d already gotten used to Mickey not being able to fight back. “You’re lying _AND_ I think there’s somewhere _else_ you need to be going.” 

Mickey found himself gently bumping against her protruding belly, which was impossible to avoid given the size of it. “I guess I can piss in the closet it you’re really set on me not usin’ the actual bathroom.” Mickey replied sarcastically, and placed both hands on her shoulders. “You want me to piss in your closet, Mands? Cuz I fuckin’ will.” He locked eyes with his sister and he was just tipsy enough to mean every word of it. 

“Can it, you dope.” Mandy grumbled and brushed his hands off of her shoulders, stepping back to eye him seriously. “You need to go home. To Ian. You obviously miss him a hell of a lot and I’m sure he misses you too. Go home early and spend time with him before going back to the fucking dungeon in the hills. I’ll figure out how to get you out of this bullshit excuse of a marriage starting tomorrow.”

Mickey gaped at his sister, his thoughts freezing up like she had just thrown a metaphorical monkey wrench into the cogs of his mind. It took him a few moments to process what she said, but once he did, Mickey planted himself back down on the couch like he didn’t trust himself to stand. 

“I can’t.” Mickey lamented quietly. Before Mandy could make any more inquiries, Mickey kept on talking. “I can’t just go be with Ian. I can’t just _leave_ Clyde. And I sure as fuck can’t let you get involved in all the stupid drama.” He gave Mandy his most sincere look, begging her to understand. He had been so sure that leaving Clyde was in his future only days before, but the gravity of the whole thing was starting to really hit him, making him feel fucking nauseated every time the thought even crossed his mind. He’d been ignoring Clyde’s texts for days now, because ignoring him was easier than dealing with everything. As wonderful as going home to see Ian sounded, it would also have meant facing his rapidly decaying reality yet again - and Mickey wasn’t sure if he was ready. 

“You can, Mickey. And of course I need to get involved, that’s what Milkoviches do. We fix each other's shit. We always have, always will.” Mandy insisted, refusing to take no for an answer. “I know with how fast you rushed the wedding, there wasn’t a prenup - so this isn’t gonna be cut and dry - but Matteo and I know some people. We can help.” 

Mickey stayed silent. He didn’t know what to say. 

Mandy took it as a cue to continue. “And I know you can’t _magically_ go be with Ian, dipshit. I’m telling you to go home _early_ and spend some time with him.” She spoke to him slowly so it would sink into his thick skull. “It’d be nice.” 

Mickey thought about it. He thought about buying an early return ticket and showing up on Ian’s doorstep. Would Ian be excited to see him? The thought made Mickey’s insides feel like warm jello. “I mean… I guess I could check out the flight times.”

“Good. Do that. Now, go to the bathroom. If you piss on my floors, I’m gonna set Thumper loose to tear you limb from limb.” Mandy wrapped an arm around her brother’s neck quickly and pulled him to her side. “Also, before you leave me… you owe me a new fucking bathmat, freak.”

Mickey simply squeezed his sister tighter, pretending he didn’t hear a word.

*

While Mickey busied himself in the bathroom, relieving his bladder after his last five beers, he scrolled on his phone, checking every airline for the best flight options. He didn’t need a first class ticket. He just needed whatever ticket brought him to Ian. 

Just as he was washing his hands, he got a text. 

Ian (10:48): _bitch, it’s getting late here_

Ian (10:48): _no goodnight text yet?_

Ian (10:48): _You’re really slacking_

Mickey washed his hands and dried them on his pant legs, before he purchased the return ticket he had been looking at, then navigated through screens to return to their messages. 

Mickey (8:48): _Yup, I’m the fuckin’ worst_

Mickey (8:48): _I’ll make it up to u real soon_

Ian (10:50): 🤨 _oh yeah? How do you plan on doing that?_

Mickey (8:50): _Guess u have to wait and see_

Ian (10:54): _I see how you want to play this, little shit_

Ian (10:54): _you’re lucky I don’t have the energy for a round on ft right now because I would absolutely own your ass for keeping secrets_

Mickey knew Ian wasn’t lying and he could only hope that his lover would be able to make good on that promise tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, thanks for reading! Comment and kudo to let us know what you thought <3


	14. You've got me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for patiently waiting for this update. We love you all! 
> 
> Find the authors:  
> Jinlin5: Insta (@gallavich_doodles) // Tumblr (@doodlevich)  
> camnoelgallavich: Insta (@cam.monaghanfan) // Twitter (@cam_monaghanfan)

“Number five! Order up!” 

The shrill voice startled Mickey out of his daze, and he glanced down at the receipt clutched in his fist, trying to locate the order number amidst the handwritten Chinese characters. He should have paid more attention when the cashier had handed him the slip, but his thoughts had become too foggy - too crowded out by much more pressing matters. 

_ Ian _ . 

“Number five!”

Mickey finally found the number five, scrawled in blue, nearly indistinguishable ink. 

“Number-“ 

“ _ Christ _ ! Hold on, I’m right fucking here!” Mickey growled, causing the other patrons that were squished into the tiny Chinese restaurant to cast furtive sideways glances in his direction. Mickey didn’t even notice. He approached the counter and watched a sour faced woman slide two hefty paper bags across the counter. Mickey accepted the bags with a nod of thanks, and absently dropped a fresh hundred dollar bill into the tip jar before he turned to exit the store. 

“Thank you sir!” A younger version of the woman - no doubt her daughter - spoke up, eyes wide. Mickey simply shrugged and turned, heading for the exit. He figured he might as well be generous, considering that he wasn’t entirely sure how much longer he’d have that type of money at his disposal to just give away. 

Mickey’s mind had been too full to function properly ever since he hugged his sister goodbye at the airport and boarded the plane back to Chicago - a day earlier than he had originally intended. His stomach went to mush when he thought about surprising Ian, but each and every time these positive feelings were rudely interrupted by the uncertainty that invaded every other aspect of his life. 

Mandy’s voice echoed in his head.  _ Aren’t you tired of being unhappy?  _

Mickey had been thinking about those words for days, and for nearly his entire flight home, he had spent his time planning, strategizing. He and Mandy would work together to figure out the best way to tackle leaving Clyde, but Mickey knew his best course of action until they had a concrete plan in place was to go back to his husband and pretend that nothing was wrong for as long as he could stand to. 

It was a disheartening and frustrating prospect, but Mickey could hardly entertain such depressing thoughts as he stepped onto the street outside of the restaurant and glanced up at the modest apartment building just across the street. 

_ Ian _ . They were so close to one another, and Mickey’s boyfriend had no fucking clue. 

He had landed in the early evening and taken an Uber straight to the address Ian had given him weeks ago - after requesting an additional stop to drop off his luggage at a nearby 24/7 storage center so that he wouldn’t have to lug it around with him. His first venture around the neighborhood was a convenience store on the corner, to gather up a stash of snacks - Pringles, assorted candy bars, and the red licorice that he knew Ian loved despite being bullied by Mickey for his strange taste in candy. The second place Mickey visited was to pick up Chinese food- Ian’s favorite from the small shop across the street. He had assumed he was at the right place, since it was the only Chinese restaurant for several blocks. He didn’t know what Ian liked exactly, so he bought practically one of everything, just in case. 

Now he stood with very full arms, staring up at the building where Ian waited, unsuspecting and oblivious - and Mickey could practically feel his heart singing. Most likely, he would have lingered there for a while longer, psyching himself up and letting the delicious scent of the food wafting up from the bags calm him, but the universe seemed impatient for him to get a move on. Mickey flinched at a sudden roar of rolling thunder, as the sky above him opened up - drenching Chicago with a sweet spell of summer rain. 

“Fuck!” Mickey hissed, bundling the bags closer to his chest and setting off in a sprint across the road, narrowly missing a few other pedestrians and at least one vehicle. Unfortunately, he didn’t have enough hands to give the honking car the finger, so Mickey just kept going, determined to get out of the rain and into Ian’s apartment before he fucking floated away.

*

Ian was lying on his living room floor, a throw pillow under his head and a book spread out before him, reading diligently as the light from the window slowly dimmed with the setting of the sun. He found himself doing it more and more often - lying on the floor instead of in his bed or on the couch like the average person would. He didn’t know why he liked it so much, and yet, Ian found it his most comfortable spot to read. 

At the first burst of lightning, which came before any sign of rain, Ian glanced over his shoulder. The bright light flashing around the room had surprised him, and he had lost his spot on the page, much to his annoyance. A loud clap of thunder followed and Ian sighed, dragging himself up to his feet in order to close his curtains, taking the book with him. By the time he reached his living room window, the sudden downpour had already begun, beating down on the roof of his building like a mallet. 

Ian had been trying to keep himself busy all day, and the book had effectively distracted him from checking his phone for a text from Mickey every few minutes. It hadn’t, however, done a very good job of stopping Ian from missing him. It had made matters exponentially worse, actually - the plot centering around some prince falling for an average guy. The stupid book - a recommendation from Debbie - was well out of the realm of shit Ian would normally go for, but he had actually found himself enjoying it so far. Although, the more he thought about it, the whole concept felt oddly familiar to his own situation. 

Mickey, the unattainable prince - and himself, the average guy. Not to mention that the pair of characters started out as enemies, before turning into lovers.

Ian returned to the spot he had been laying, flicking on the only lamp in his living room to counteract the sudden darkness. He finished up the page he had been halfway through and dog-eared the corner to keep his place. Dropping the book down onto the sofa, he migrated into the kitchen, flicking the lights on and opening up the fridge door wide. He spent a few minutes surveying his options, trying to figure out what he could make that he would actually be able to choke down for dinner. Nothing looked even remotely appealing. 

Just as Ian reached in for some tomatoes, finally resigning himself a night of his usual, he froze in his tracks as he heard an unexpected knock at his front door. 

_ Who the hell could it be? _ Ian thought, as he closed the fridge door quietly and pulled his phone out of his pocket, checking to see if any of his siblings had texted that they were coming over. Besides a few texts from his coworkers generally checking up on him, there were no new messages. 

A second knock quickly followed the first, and after another moment of hesitation, Ian huffed, creeping over to the door and leaning in to look through the peephole. 

*

Mickey had been lucky enough to make it into the foyer of the apartment at the same time that a frail looking old man had been checking his mail, leaning over his cane and adjusting his bifocals to read the addresses on the front of the envelopes. With a forced smile and a shrug to show off the things in his arms, Mickey had managed to lure the man over to the door to let him into the lobby of the building. Mickey couldn’t help to think how fortunate the man was that he wasn’t some sort of deranged psycho ready to go on a rampage, but rather, a simple love-struck idiot, searching for his boyfriend's apartment. 

Mickey paused in the middle of the lobby, as the old man shuffled past him towards the elevators. It dawned on him in that moment that he had no fucking clue what Ian’s apartment number was. Ian had only given him the address, and now he was standing in the building with no idea where to go. It didn’t seem like a fancy enough place to have an apartment directory - on the Southside, it wasn’t a smart idea to let everyone know  _ exactly _ where you lived, just in case. 

Before Mickey could talk himself out of it and simply resort to texting Ian and ruining the surprise, he heard himself begin to speak. 

“Hey!” Mickey called out to the old man, who took his time turning to face Mickey, still rifling through his mail as he waited for the elevator. “You got any idea which apartment belongs to Ian Gallagher? Tall guy, red head, walking Irish stereotype?” Mickey figured it was worth a shot. 

The old man took a moment to think. “Hmm, sounds familiar. Gallagher… there is one guy on my floor. He’s always gettin’ up early and comin’ in late. Think he said he was a firefighter? No that doesn’t sound right… maybe a-“

“EMT?” Mickey interrupted, taking a few steps closer

The old man’s face lit up. “That’s it! An EMT. Is that who you’re looking for?” 

“Sounds like it.” Mickey nodded, as the ancient elevators doors creaked open. 

“Well you’re in luck then.” The man stepped slowly and carefully into the elevator and motioned for Mickey to join him. “Come on, he’s on the fourth floor, just a few doors down from me. Number 416, I think.”

“Uh… thanks.” Mickey hummed, unsure of what else to say. 

“Yes, Ian, that’s his name…” The old man murmured, almost to himself as the doors closed. “Strong young man.  _ Handsome _ too…” 

*

Now, Mickey stood in front of the door, heart pounding and blood surging through his veins. He had somehow managed to free his hand enough to give a clumsy knock on the door. He hoped like hell Ian was home, and that he hadn’t left to run errands or some other shit in such a sudden downpour. 

After his second knock, there was the sound of footsteps behind the thin door, and a moment later it began to swing inward. Ian stood behind it, frozen in shock.

“Hi…” Mickey murmured, trying to hold back a pleased smile at the look on Ian’s face. 

“MICKEY?!” Ian could barely see his face over the top of the paper bags he was carrying, but he knew exactly who he would find behind them. He scrambled to reach out and take the heaviest looking bag from Mickey’s arms, hardly noticing the smell of one of his favorite foods - far too distracted by Mickey to register anything other than him. Without another sound, Ian threw the bag down on the small table near the door and turned back, grabbing onto a fistful of Mickey’s shirt and unceremoniously yanking him through the doorway. 

Mickey let out a gasp as he was reeled passed the threshold, like a fish on a line, allowing the door slam shut behind them. He was thoroughly drenched from the rain, with nothing but his leather jacket to stop him from being completely soaked through. The apartment was warm, but the smile growing on Ian’s face was much warmer. “Said I’d make it up to you…” Mickey whispered, as if it was enough explanation for why he had showed up on Ian’s doorstep without warning. 

“Y-you… what?!” Ian laughed as he took the plastic convenience store bags off of Mickey’s wrists and set them on the floor by their feet. He recalled their conversation from the night before, of course - and he had believed Mickey, but this was not the sort of consolation prize he had been expecting. Mickey had come home early, showing up outside of his apartment - just for him. It was one of the best surprises of Ian’s life and the grandest gesture he could imagine. 

“I didn’t say goodnight.” Mickey shrugged, and let Ian empty his arms. “Thought I’d do it in person…”

“Holy  _ shit _ , Mick…” Ian stepped up to Mickey once the bags were out of the way, the look of amazement lighting up his features as he slipped his hands into the sides of Mickey’s wet jacket, curling his palms around his waist and warming his chilled skin, “This more than makes up for not saying goodnight. We’re even.” Ian gazed into Mickey’s eyes intently, as he walked the smaller man backwards until his back came into contact with the recently closed door. This didn’t stop Ian - he kept on pressing forward, lifting his hands to hold either side of Mickey’s head, his touch remaining gentle, as if he was holding something wholly precious between them. Finally, their lips made electric contact, practically sparking. 

Even though he’d technically been  _ home _ since he touched down on the tarmac in Chicago, Mickey hadn’t felt it until that moment, caged between Ian’s arms and pressed against the door. It wasn’t a surprise when their lips gravitated together as naturally as breathing air. Mickey let a contented sigh work its way up from the bottom of his soul and out against Ian lips. At first, it was ridiculously hard to kiss and smile at the same time, but Mickey soon got the hang of it, gripping Ian’s jaw with one hand and the back of his shirt with the other. His hair was plastered to his forehead from the rain and he was dripping water onto Ian’s floor, creating a little puddle at their feet, but neither of them noticed, or particularly cared.

Ian’s eager tongue slid against Mickey’s and a low moan erupted from his chest. He focused on giving everything to Mickey - every morsel of missing him, every moment of wishing away the distance between them while they’d been apart. Inching his hands down to Mickey’s chest, just beneath the jacket, Ian continued to convince himself that he wasn’t dreaming. Mickey was very real, and right in front of him. It seemed impossible to detach himself from Mickey’s lips, but he finally gave in when he felt the wetness on his cheek. 

“You cryin’ on me?” Ian panted teasingly, removing one of his hands from where it had slipped down to Mickey’s waist and raising it up to wipe Mickey’s rain soaked cheeks dry. 

“Fuck off, you dick!” Laughter bubbled out of Mickey’s mouth, as he leaned in to peck softly at Ian’s lips. “Maybe you haven’t looked outside yet today, but it’s fucking pouring out there.” 

“I can tell.” Ian scoffed, ruffling Mickey’s damp hair. “You look like a fuckin’  _ wet rat _ .” Ian laughed, leaning in to press his lips against Mickey’s hairline.

Mickey closed his eyes and listened to the thunder rumble and clap outside, resting and finally feeling at ease for the first time since he arrived back in Chicago. After a deep breath, Mickey glanced around at the small apartment he stood in. It was much nicer than anything he had ever lived in as a child, and yet it somehow felt so familiar. It smelled a little of damp and dust and  _ Ian. _ It reminded Mickey of things he didn’t know he had it in him to miss. Simplicity. Warmth.  _ Love _ . 

And Chinese food. 

Mickey fingers bunched in the neck of Ian’s tank top as he was pulled in for one more noisy yet quick kiss. “Oh! So I got a sweet talker on my hands huh?” He raised his eyebrows as high as his forehead would allow. “Maybe I should just take my 80 bucks to worth of food and scram…?” 

Out of reflex, Ian smacked the side of Mickey’s head after hearing the price, which only caused Mickey to chuckle more. “You spent EIGHTY DOLLARS ON ONE MEAL?! What the hell, Mick?” He shook his head and looked around the room to find the bags. 

“You’re not gonna be givin’ me shit when you see what I brought.” Mickey smirked at his boyfriend. “I think you’re gonna be kissin’ my ass, actually.” He gave Ian a little shove away, encouraging him to have a look for himself. 

Ian smiled at Mickey’s signature cockiness as he backpedaled, struggling to take his eyes off Mickey, as if he’d disappear as quickly as he’d appeared. 

“I’m gonna do more than kiss your ass,  _ baby _ .” Ian snickered sarcastically, flipping Mickey off. He took a curious glimpse into the plastic bags full of snacks, before moving on to the bags of Chinese takeout that were resting on the table beside them. “What’s all this for?” Ian pulled his favorite out of the bag, tempted to open up the wrapper of the red licorice right there and then.

“Just some shit I picked up on my way here...” Mickey shrugged and scratched the back of his neck, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious about the lengths he went to just to ensure that Ian was happy. “I thought you might like it.” 

Ian’s beaming smile only grew wider as he searched through the bag, finding all of his favorites mixed in with Mickey’s - barbecue Pringles and original flavored, Snickers bars beside Reese’s peanut butter cups, sour patch kids and a pack of Oreos. He turned his attention back to the fresh food, breaking one of the paper bags open and releasing a swirling cloud of steam. 

“It’s still warm!” Ian announced excitedly as he scooped up both bags in his arms and nodded his head in the direction of his modest dining table, beckoning Mickey to follow him. “Let’s eat, I’m fuckin’ starving.” 

Mickey followed Ian the short distance into the rest of his apartment. The living room and the kitchen both inhabited the same basic space, disconnected by a couch and coffee table. Mickey’s eyes roamed, taking in the short hallway that split off into both a bathroom and a bedroom, and then looking up to the high, slightly water-stained ceilings. The small dining table was tucked away in the corner of the kitchen, beside the largest window in the apartment. When Mickey sat down opposite Ian, he couldn’t help but notice the sound of the rain beating against the glass of the window beside them as he shrugged his jacket off, hanging it on the back of the chair.

“So you do, right?” Mickey blurted, unable to stop himself from asking again as he watched Ian select and open one styrofoam tray after another, spreading them on the table until there was barely any room left to eat. “ _ Like it,  _ I mean.” Mickey may have been gesturing to the food, but the question clearly had a double meaning, one that betrayed Mickey’s deepest insecurities. 

Ian paused after setting down the last tray, stepping forward and pulling out Mickey’s chair without much effort. He planted himself down, straddling Mickey’s lap without invitation - as if he needed one. “ _ Of course _ I do.” Ian draped his arms over Mickey’s shoulders, crooking one arm to scratch soothingly at his scalp, letting his eyes roam freely across Mickey’s glowing face. He leaned in closer and whispered in a playful tone. “And I  _ like _ you too.” The way he emphasized the word caused Mickey’s heart to skip a beat.

“Knew that already,” Mickey murmured, “I mean look at me, what’s not to like?” He looked up at Ian, to find himself being inspected intently. Mickey sighed. “Alright, you obviously have questions, and I don’t blame you. Go ahead, spit it out.” 

“When did you get here and why didn’t you call me to pick you up?” Ian blurted immediately, as if he had been holding it back, stilling his hand in Mickey’s hair. He’d been too enraptured by his gorgeous boyfriend showing up at his doorstep to agonize over the details. 

“Landed probably two hours ago,” Mickey responded softly, due to their close proximity, both his hands resting comfortably on either side of Ian’s hips. The soft lighting of the room caused Ian to appear so warm and inviting, back lit in white each time the lightning struck outside.  _ Beautiful _ . The imagery was a far cry from the cold, unfeeling presence that he would be forced to return to the next day. “And if I asked you to pick me up it woulda ruined the whole surprise, doncha think?” 

“No!” Ian admonished, “I could’ve come! I still would’ve been surprised. Ugh, I shouldn’t have taken your car!” He flicked Mickey’s ear before pressing a quick kiss to it in recompense. 

“It don’t fuckin’ matter,” Mickey wrapped his arm around Ian’s waist and felt his stomach growl. “I’m here now. Just enjoy it, sit down, and eat your fuckin’ noodles, man.” 

Ian squinted at him for only a moment before he gave in, something he was learning to accept as part of the relationship. “I  _ am _ sitting down.” He let himself slide forward on his boyfriend’s lap, barely brushing their crotches together, although they both knew sex wasn’t the goal just yet. Tucking his face into Mickey’s neck, Ian inhaled deeply, taking in what he was convinced was the most comforting scent in the world - a mixture of Armani cologne, and a natural woodsy scent that somehow reminded him of his youth. “And I’m not getting up so… you’re gonna have to feed me, I guess.” He grinned mischievously, preparing to hear Mickey begin to groan like a whiny little bitch in  _ three, two, one- _

“What is  _ up _ with you and refusing to feed yourself?” Mickey muttered into his boyfriend's neck, without making any real effort to push him off or away. Instead, he tightened his grip and planted a kiss to the exposed skin. Ian was as smooth as he remembered, yet when their cheeks brushed together, Mickey felt the unmistakable scratch of stubble. He couldn’t resist, kissing and nipping along the length of Ian’s neck, up to the sensitive spot where his ear connected with the jawline. Once he heard the breathy moan escape Ian’s lips, Mickey pulled back and looked Ian sternly in the eye. 

“Get off. If you don’t, all this shit is gonna go to waste, because I can’t keep my fucking hands to myself.” Mickey closed his eyes to avoid getting sucked in my Ian’s hypnotic gaze. “Seriously. We have the whole night to do this later, man. I wanna talk to you!” 

Ian grunted and took his sweet time sliding off of Mickey’s lap and into the spare chair next to him. He carried on pouting like an actual child, and aimed a pair of pitiful puppy dog eyes at his lover. “You could have talked to me and kept doing  _ that _ , ya know...” Ian complained, touch-starved and desperate, reaching for a tray of noodles and a fork, digging in right from the container before even setting it on the table. 

Mickey rolled his eyes with great affection and didn’t even realize that he was reaching for Ian’s newly unoccupied hand until he had it in his grasp, squeezing the man’s palm lightly. “Listen, alright?” He entreated.

“What’s wrong?” Ian glanced over at him curiously between bites, slowing down the speed of his fork to give Mickey his full attention once more. Due to Mickey’s sudden pause, he was left wondering what would cause his boyfriend to preface their conversation so formally. 

“Nothing’s wrong!” Mickey assured him quickly. And, it was technically true. If Mickey played his cards right, things would go off without much of a hitch, and sooner than later he would be  _ free _ . “I… I’m leaving him. Clyde.” Mickey explained. He watched Ian’s face carefully, trying to gauge his reaction. 

“ _ Shit _ \- for real?” Ian dropped the plastic fork back down into the container, gripping Mickey’s hand even harder in excitement. He was obviously making an effort to hold back for Mickey’s sake, but the elation on his face was instantaneous. “That’s what you really want, right?” He questioned ,  discarding the food once more  forgetting his hunger as he turned to face Mickey. Ian reached out for him with his other hand and took both of Mickey's in his own.

If it had been anyone else asking, Mickey would have accused them of asking stupid questions.  _ Of course that’s what I want, _ he would have said.  _ I’ve been trying to work up to this shit a while now.  _

Instead, Mickey eagerly accepted Ian’s other hand and nodded. “I do.” He practically whispered it. “ _Fuck_ _yeah_ I do.” Mickey chuckled breathlessly, feeling excited about the prospect for the first time since he had made the final decision. 

Ian’s smile grew to the point it looked physically painful. He knew he certainly played a role in the final decision, yet he wasn’t presumptuous enough to believe he was the sole reason for it. All he knew was that Mickey would be  _ happy _ and at the end of the day, that’s all Ian could ask for. 

“C’mere.” Ian beamed, tugging Mickey closer until their lips met. The kiss was yet another breath of fresh air. It was heavy with the knowledge that Mickey truly wouldn’t be stuck forever. That there was a real chance for them in the near future. 

Mickey broke away and rested his head against Ian’s forehead. “Don’t get too excited.” He hummed. “This is gonna be messy. Mandy and Matteo are gonna try to help me get my shit together, but I’m gonna have to lay low for a while when I go back…” 

“Meaning…?” Ian asked, his eyebrows creasing, feeling his heart deflate a little after the sudden excitement. He wanted to know exactly what ‘laying low’ meant to Mickey - preparing for the worst.

Mickey sighed, and picked up his own fork, shoveling a mouthful of something he didn’t recognize into his mouth to cover his nerves. “ _ Meaning _ ,” He chewed as he spoke, and swallowed before continuing, “I might not see you for a little while once I leave here. If this is all gonna happen without blowing up in my face, I gotta make sure he’s not suspicious and making shit extra hard for me.” Mickey watched his boyfriend’s face fall, and it felt like a punch in the gut, nearly taking away his appetite. “‘S not ‘cause I don’t wanna see you, man. Trust me. I just gotta play it cool- and I can’t do it if you’re distracting me…” 

“Oh. Okay, yeah.” Ian nodded slowly, noticeably withdrawing as he processed Mickey’s words. He took his hand back and rubbed at his lip to keep from saying the wrong thing. In a moment of selfishness, Ian wondered why Mickey had even showed up just to ambush him with such shitty news. He instantly felt guilty for having such a thought, chewing the inside of his cheek as he looked down at his food once more. Although, it was nice to think that he consumed Mickey’s thoughts so regularly, he obviously didn’t want to fuck up Mickey’s plan. It was just that the idea of not being able to see Mickey, despite being so close to one another again, was more than a little upsetting.

“Hey,” Mickey reached out the moment he felt Ian pull away. He felt like dogshit, having to break the news to Ian. Perhaps that was why had picked up all of Ian’s favorites - somewhere in his subconscious he had hoped it would soften the blow. “It’s not gonna be long. I  _ promise _ . I just wanna put all this bullshit behind me, before-“ Mickey eyed Ian up and down, before making eye contact.  _ Before we move forward. Before we start fresh.  _ Mickey wasn’t sure what he meant, but he hoped Ian understood. 

“Yeah, I get it, Mick. I really do...” Ian bit the inside of his cheek and nodded again, trying to quell his unstable emotions. At least they had a night together. Then the ball would be Mickey’s court to decide when it would be safe to see him again. It was a terrifying thought, but Ian knew he had to let go and let it happen- for both of their sakes. “Let’s eat, okay?” He forced a tight lipped smile in Mickey’s direction. 

There was so much more Mickey wanted to say, but he simply didn’t know how. It was at times like these that he wished someone had taught him how to talk about  _ feelings _ and all the other stupid human experiences that nobody in his family had bothered to touch with a ten foot pole for  _ generations _ . For the moment, he just decided to move forward, and hoped that something brilliant would come to him later.

“Yeah, okay.” Mickey nodded, picking up his fork and digging in once again.

Ian ate quietly for a few minutes, stealing glances at Mickey until he couldn’t stay silent anymore. “Thanks for bringing all this.” Ian bumped his bare foot against Mickey’s boot. 

“Thanks for lettin’ me stay the night… even though I didn’t really ask,” Mickey countered, slipping his feet out his boots and kicking them to the side. He’s been so caught up in the moment, neither he nor Ian had noticed that he’d never taken them off. If he was to stay, Mickey figured he might as well make himself comfortable. 

Ian smiled and pulled Mickey’s chair closer to his. “You never need to ask.”

*

“Jesus, this show is more fucked up than I remember…” Mickey scoffed, throwing a small stack of Pringles into his mouth and chewing loudly. “Now this is what I call entertainment!” 

After making a large dent in Chinese food and packing the copious leftovers away for later, Ian had naturally migrated to the couch with the bag of snacks, patting the spot beside him, a silent request for Mickey to join him. Although the sun had set nearly an hour ago, the rain had not let up, and every once in a while the rolling sound of thunder passed by - farther and farther away as time went by. 

They had picked up where they left off watching Game of Thrones, after Ian had reminded him of the basic plot points. Once their food had settled, both men ruthlessly tore into the snacks, finding comfortable reclining positions on Ian’s lumpy couch, which just so happened to involve leaning closer to one another than totally necessary. Mickey ended up settling into Ian’s side, under the comforting weight of Ian’s arm. 

Ian tossed empty wrappers onto his coffee table, before he reached back for his soft, fuzzy throw, placing it over his lap. “Want some?” He offered a corner of his blanket. He’d be damned if he  _ formally  _ asked for Mickey to cuddle him - his boyfriend would never let him live it down - but that didn’t stop him from trying to orchestrate it anyway. 

Mickey thought about the offer for a few seconds before squirming closer, draping the throw over his legs. They were illuminated only by the glow of the tv and the safety of the darkness - how utterly _alone_ they were with each other had Mickey’s heart beating like a schoolgirl on her first date. They had never been so _alone_ _together_ \- there was always the threat of discovery, the haste of stolen moments ushering them on, speeding them up. Ian wasted no time, curling his lanky frame into Mickey’s side, reaching beneath the blanket to hold Mickey’s hand, intertwining their fingers. Everything felt slow. Everything felt calm. And Mickey decided it really was worth giving up _everything_ for. 

As the episode came to a close, Ian glanced up and caught Mickey watching him, a dark blush growing on his cheeks. He decided they’d seen enough of the show for one sitting, no matter how much they were enjoying it. 

“Tell me something.” Ian stated, as he watched the credits scrolled. It was an obscure request, but he wasn’t sure what else to say.

Mickey gave a soft snort. “What kinda something?” He murmured. Netflix was asking if they were still watching, and Mickey wasn’t sure that they were. 

“Whatever’s on your mind.” Ian figured he needed to suck it up and reignite the conversation. “Like, what  _ is _ your next move? Deciding to get divorced is a big fucking deal, Mick.”

Mickey felt his stomach turn again, and he wasn't sure how much of it was stress and how much of it was the random assortment of food he’d been eating all evening. 

Ian noticed the subtle change in Mickey’s features immediately. “I’m gonna be here for you through all of it, okay? You’ve got me. And you can come here whenever you want, whenever you need a break from the bullshit.” He promised

“I know.” Mickey whispered, suddenly finding himself slouching, closer to Ian’s face than he had been moments before. “I just don’t wanna talk about him anymore. Wasted enough of my time with him already.” 

Due to their proximity, Ian easily leaned in and pecked Mickey’s cheek. “Okay... then I’ll tell you something. I’m really fuckin’ glad you’re here. And I’m gonna prove it to you.”

Mickey felt a grin coming on but didn’t even attempt to conceal it. “Oh yeah?” He closed the distance between them yet again, until the tips of their noses met. “Game on, Gallagher.” He hissed. 

“Game on?” Ian tilted his head to press a chaste kiss to Mickey’s lips and then pulled away quickly, leaving Mickey to chase after his lips. “I don’t have any of that fancy gaming shit here, kid.” He joked, “but I’ll let you play with  _ me _ \- if you catch me!” 

In a flash, Ian popped up from the sofa, throwing the blanket to the side, and catching Mickey off guard. By the time Mickey realized what the hell was happening, Ian was already cackling from the other side of the room.

“Get back here, you little shit,” Mickey growled playfully, launching up from the couch and pursuing him. He ran around Ian’s apartment, following the sound of his laugh and feeling the heaviness that had been about to settle over him melt away. Ian did that. And Christ, he felt like a fucking kid again, just high on life as he chased his boyfriend. No one had ever made him  _ enjoy _ himself like Ian did. 

Ian skirted the sofa and made it into his bedroom. He jumped up onto his bed and as soon as Mickey slid into the doorway, losing traction because his socks made the hardwood floor as slippery as a skating rink. 

“Can’t keep up, Mick?” Ian teased, as he watched his boyfriend nearly fall flat on his ass, unable to stop his momentum. He leapt down from the bed, making a b-line for the kitchen and leaving Mickey behind on his own.

“Go fuck yourself, bitch!” Mickey could hardly get the exclamation out without chuckling as he found his footing and gave chase. “You’re neighbors are gonna come up here and fucking shoot us!” He tried to lunge forward and grab Ian’s arm, but he only captured air. “Goddamn I’m outta shape…” He heaved. Mickey worked out on occasion - mostly when he got intensely bored of having nothing to do. Ian was on a different level entirely. 

Ian let out an honest-to-god giggle as he swerved around Mickey and ran back into the living room. Only spending time messing around with Mickey could pull a ridiculous laugh like that out of him. But what could he do? He was  _ happy _ for the first time since Mickey had left Chicago. He stood in front of the sofa, doing an obnoxious touchdown dance for escaping Mickey so many times without breaking much of a sweat. 

Mickey roared and dove towards the man, causing Ian to lose his balance and collide ass first with the sofa. “Suck my fuckin’ dick, man! I win!” Mickey howled, poking and shoving at the struggling man until Ian was nearly falling off the couch, red faced from continuous laughter. 

Ian soon stopped putting up a fight, deciding instead to be a ruthless tease. He lifted his hand and slipped it down Mickey’s chest until he reached his desired destination, cupping his cock through his jeans and squeezing forcefully. “Didn’t know the prize was getting your dick sucked...” He smirked up at Mickey, trying to level out his heavy breathing. “You sure that’s all you want?” 

Mickey panted, grinning widely as he swiped his tongue against his bottom lip. “Well… I mean, as long as we’re negotiatin’...” He bowed his head then, swooping in to capture Ian’s lips and not bothering to give a single shit when their front teeth knocked together like a pair of inexperienced teenagers. 

“ _ Ow _ .” Ian chuckled, completely undeterred. Wrapping his long limbs all the way around Mickey’s body, he captured his lover and pulled him downward gracelessly. He nibbled on Mickey’s bottom lip, sucking it into his own mouth before parting them completely, allowing Mickey to take full control. Ian busied himself in the meantime, letting his hands roam around Mickey’s body, rediscovering all of his favorite curves and dips and swells. He produced a soft sound of approval as he slid his hand down the curve of his ass, groping at it before rolling Mickey towards the back of the sofa and pinning him there, caging him in once more. He ground his hips into Mickey, feeling his own cock continue to harden. 

They wrestled around haphazardly on the sofa in the near darkness, and Mickey began rocking into Ian, mimicking his boyfriend’s desperate movements. He didn’t know when it began exactly - all he knew was that the soft moan that escaped his lips caught him by surprise as much as it did Ian. Mickey let out a warm puff of air through his pursed lips and continued the motion, digging his fingertips into Ian’s shoulders. Gently guided by Ian’s steady hand on his ass, it felt too good to stop. Pulling back only a fraction of an inch, Mickey’s mouth dropped open silently of its own volition when Ian’s hips canted inward to meet him halfway, increasing the pressure between them by another delicious increment. 

“ _ Fuck _ , I missed you.” Ian leaned to touch his lips to the column of Mickey’s exposed neck, whispering against Mickey’s skin. “Can’t believe you’re really here… in my apartment, of all places.” He craned his neck back to look at Mickey’s face in the glow of the television screen. 

Mickey had no choice but to close his eyes and rest his forehead against Ian’s - his head was spinning like a fucking carousel and he couldn’t seem to inhale enough oxygen to adequately feed his lungs. He could feel Ian’s chest rising and falling against his as they methodically rocked into one another. Mickey appreciated every point at which their bodies connected - softly despite the hardness Mickey felt forming against him. The idea that they were each getting so turned on by the simple act of dry humping would have been laughable to Mickey - if it hadn’t been working so damn well. 

“C’mere…” Mickey whispered into the nearly nonexistent space between them, as if Ian could get any closer. For the first time in his life, Mickey wanted to be  _ closer _ . 

Ian was powerless to deny Mickey a single thing - not that he wanted to. He crashed his lips into Mickey’s once more,  tangling their tongues together - feeling the softness melt as insatiable desire quickly took over. In the midst of the intensity, Mickey’s fingers found their way to the bottom of Ian’s tank top, as he slipped both hands under the fabric and began inching it up under Ian’s armpits. It felt unfair that there were any layers left between the two of them - and Mickey was determined to do something about it. 

Ian only moved away far enough to allow Mickey to pull his tank top over his head. He surged forward again, finding the front of Mickey’s jeans, trying to get them unbuttoned and unzipped without having to look. 

After discarding the tank top, Mickey did his best to assist the process, shimmying slightly as he simultaneously ripped at the buttons on his own shirt - a frenzied attempt to rid himself of it. He wanted to feel his bare skin, pressed against Ian’s - Mickey had missed it more than he had even realized. 

“Ay, let me.” Ian whispered, throwing Mickey’s jeans and boxers somewhere on the floor of his living room after they had been successfully kicked off. He moved Mickey’s hands out of the way and started undoing the buttons faster than Mickey could manage, mindlessly discarding it on the heap of clothing once Mickey had wriggled out of it. He let his eyes roam leisurely over Mickey’s naked body, taking in the flush of color painting his cheeks and chest.

Ian ran his fingers over Mickey’s toned stomach, feeling the muscles tighten under his palm before pushing out towards him with every warm breath of Mickey’s that fanned over his face. He travelled lower and lower, until he reached his destination, curling his digits around Mickey’s length at the base and dragging his hand forward slowly, adding just enough pressure to pull another moan out of Mickey. 

Ian caught Mickey’s gaze and gave him a teasing smile. “What would you do if I said my sweats are staying on?” He whispered, feeling Mickey writhe against him as his hand continued massaging his hard-on.

“I’d say,  _ fuck off _ ,” Mickey growled, reaching down to tug at the band of Ian’s sweats, trying his best to shift them down before he could be interupted. He felt desperate for Ian - every last inch of him - and he wasn’t about to let anything stop him so easily. 

“Alright, chill out, bruiser…” Ian taunted, walking his fingers along Mickey’s bare bicep, tucking his arm under his head as he gazed at Mickey. “That was an invitation to fuck my mouth… what a missed opportunity.” 

Mickey tutted softly, shoving Ian’s shoulder and rolling him onto his back. When he finished slipping the sweats all the way down to Ian ankles where he was able to kick them off easily, it left them both completely nude. Mickey shimmied up Ian’s body, pressing his mouth softly to each tender spot he could find along the way - first the deep ‘v’ of Ian’s groin, blowing a hot breath onto his rock hard cock in process. Mickey moved on, next trailing kisses up to Ian’s navel, across his ribs, swirling over the peak of his nipple, before finally sucking along Ian’s collar bone. 

“I want you to  _ fuck _ me… wanna feel you  _ inside _ me…” Mickey hummed breathlessly against Ian’s flesh. 

“F-fuck.” Ian gasped, his cock twitching instinctually at hearing the filthy words falling out of Mickey’s mouth. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever heard something so seductive, and yet so…  _ romantic _ . It seemed strange but true. “C’mere then.” 

Without another word, Ian flipped their positions, wrapping his arms around Mickey’s torso and rolling him onto his back. He rose up on his knees, spreading Mickey's legs and settling between them - right where he belonged. Ian rutted against Mickey, bending low for a short and soothing kiss before he sat up in search of lube. 

Ever since their FaceTime sex on the very couch they were laying upon, Ian had kept a bottle of lube in the drawer of his coffee table, just in case. It seemed his forethought was paying off. He leaned over top of Mickey’s thigh and scrambled to open the drawer to pull the small bottle out - too distracted by Mickey mouthing at his chest to bother closing the drawer behind him. With the lube in hand, Ian retreated back to his knees.

“God you look so fucking good all spread out and ready for me.” Ian’s gaze roved over his boyfriend’s naked body, and he couldn’t help but plant a kiss on Mickey's kneecap. His eyes fell upon Mickey’s cock, which looked painfully erect, the head red and angry and wet with precum. All Ian could think about was ruining him - being _ inside  _ of him as soon as possible. Instead of giving Mickey time to complain about the lack of action, Ian dove forward, pulling Mickey’s legs up onto his shoulders, while pressing his lips to Mickey’s inner thigh.

The moment Mickey felt Ian's firm tongue swirl around his hole, his entire body seized up and he heard himself groan obscenely. He gripped the couch until his knuckles glowed white. After so long apart, the pleasure was almost too much to bear, and it took a minute or two of practically holding his breath before he was able to unwind his muscles. Once he had, Mickey’s fingers found their way to Ian, as they always seemed to do, curling into the longer auburn locks on the very top of his head. Mickey did his damndest to exercise restraint, but he found himself subconsciously pushing his body forward, pressing down into the wetness and warmth of Ian’s mouth. 

Ian spread Mickey wide with both hands - the lube momentarily forgotten - eating Mickey out like his life was at stake, alternating the pattern of his tongue strokes to keep Mickey on his toes. He hummed into Mickey as he felt a tug on his hair, allowing his head to be guided upward, running his tongue over Mickey’s perineum. He pulled away finally, leaving no more than half an inch between Mickey’s warm skin and his lips.

“What’s the matter, Mick? Too much for you,  _ hm _ ?” Ian challenged, leaning in and sucking on Mickey’s balls, which extricated an unidentifiable sound from his boyfriend - a cross between a sharp inhale and a deep groan. He located the lube beneath him and fumbled with the tiny bottle, squirting some of the slick liquid onto his fingers before pressing a single digit against Mickey’s puckered entrance.

“Please,” Mickey gasped, arching from the sofa as he felt Ian’s finger teasing him, threatening to enter him several times without actually getting the job done. Mickey didn’t know what he was begging for exactly, all he knew was that he needed Ian close -  _ closer _ . He wanted to feel Ian filling him up and curling around him, feel their bodies pressed together, in perfect sync, rocking the same steady rhythm over and over until he couldn’t take it anymore. He made desperate eye contact with Ian and tried to convey all of this unspoken need with one look. “ _ Please… _ ” he hissed. 

The tone of Mickey’s voice caused Ian to feel something pull inside of his chest. He looked up into Mickey’s wide eyes, begging, pleading with him, and all at once he understood how much Mickey needed him. Ian couldn’t bear to waste another second, dropping the bottle to the side and crawling up Mickey’s body to lay against him. He leaned down and pressed his lips to Mickey’s, giving himself over completely with the collision of their tongues. That's when it clicked. Mickey wasn’t desperate to be fucked - he was desperate for _ Ian _ .

“I’m right here, Mick. Gonna give you everything, just gotta open you up first.” Ian panted against Mickey’s cheek, holding the back of Mickey’s head with his unoccupied hand. “I don’t want to hurt you.” He whispered, making uninterrupted eye contact with Mickey’s as he pushed it in slowly, breaching the tight ring of muscle carefully. 

Mickey shut his eyes firmly and nodded, lifting one leg to rest on Ian's hip, parting his thighs even wider to allow him better access. He felt more vulnerable than he had in a long while, and it was more than a little terrifying. Yet, the overriding feeling welling up inside of Mickey was one of pure desperation. He didn’t understand his own reaction, he just let Ian kiss him blue. 

Ian could feel the pressure building in his chest the more Mickey clung to him - like he needed Ian more than he needed air. He slowly added in another slippery finger once he felt Mickey loosen around the first, tempering the kiss, dragging his tongue along Mickey’s as he hooked both of his digits inside of Mickey. 

Mickey arched his back further until he thought his spine would snap in half, pressing into Ian as if he could will himself to melt into the man’s frame - permanently fusing them together. Ian’s fingers breaching him was a welcome sensation, one he had been waiting for as long as he had been gone. Ian worked away at a leisurely pace, and Mickey didn’t mind for once - instead of urging his partner on, he was content to enjoy the experience. Something about knowing that he and Ian wouldn’t be seeing one another until Mickey made some practical decisions about his next move compelled him to savour every little thing. Ian sucked on Mickey’s lower lip, drawing back to look at his lover. 

“Look at me, baby...” Ian pleaded. It wasn’t an order, but a request - he needed to know Mickey was  _ his _ . 

Mickey somehow pried his eyes open and found himself nose to nose with Ian, locked into his gaze as if paralyzed. His breathing quickened when he felt the third finger enter him, stretching him wide and giving him the welcome burn of fullness he had so dearly missed. “Ahhh,” Mickey whimpered, “ _ Ian _ …” He knew he’d had just about enough, and it was time for the real thing. 

“Yeah? You ready?” Ian pressed a kiss to the tip of Mickey’s nose. He kept his fingers rotating, slow and steady, twisting his wrist slightly to rub against Mickey’s prostate.

Mickey nodded, and hid his face into the crook of Ian’s neck, feeling completely defenseless. In the past, this feeling would have terrified Mickey, and he would have made a run for it without a second thought. Vulnerability was hard to cultivate in his world. But Ian, as usual, made it seem so simple and Mickey knew for certain now that it was much more than just his body that he was exposing. 

Ian inhaled shakily, feeling just as overwhelmed as Mickey appeared. There was a sense of pride as well - that Mickey trusted him enough to not turn away when things got intense. Ian finally removed his fingers, searching for the lube once more. His hands shook as he slicked up the length of his cock, and once he was satisfied, Ian held the back of Mickey’s head in place as he situated himself between Mickey’s legs yet again.

“I got you.” Ian knew better than to stop the momentum, pressing his tip against Mickey’s entrance and gradually pushing inside.

Mickey exhaled a low rumbling groan against Ian’s flesh, immediately feeling as if everything was once again right with the world. He’d never imagined that sex could feel that way - of course, Mickey enjoyed the quick hard fucks, where rushing to the finish line left his heart pounding and his blood pumping. But this was new. Slow.  _ Meaningful _ .

Ian could hardly breathe as he fed himself deeper into Mickey, breathless as his boyfriend’s tight hole stretched to accommodate him. He bent his head to press a soft kiss to Mickey’s cheek, noticing he wasn’t making a move to pull away from his neck. “You okay?” Ian murmured, sliding himself in, right to the hilt - his hip bones connecting with Mickey’s ass before he stilled himself. 

“Yeah,” Mickey hummed, adjusting to the feeling of Ian fully sheathed inside of him - a seemingly perfect fit. He had just enough strength and determination to wiggle his arms free from where they had essentially been pinned, linking them around Ian’s neck and bucking forward slightly to press Ian even deeper. “Just keep going, okay?  _ Please _ . Need you.” He whispered, barely audible above the rushing in his ears. 

“I won’t.” Ian promised taking a deep inhale - like an oath. He pressed another kiss to Mickey’s skin before he began to move slowly, in and out, caressing Mickey’s hip with one hand and holding the back of his head with the other. He could feel Mickey’s pulse against his thumb, Mickey’s body pulling him in deeper, and he thought they’d never been so  _ connected _ . 

Mickey nearly lost his breath at each thrust, not because of the speed but because of the undeniable  _ purpose _ with which Ian was fucking into him. It wasn’t hard to tell, as Ian cradled him, rocking himself deep inside, he was intent on bringing Mickey the most pleasure that he could with each and every movement. And Mickey, for his part, was vocally showing his appreciation, encouraging his lover loudly, refusing to hold anything in.

Ian slid his knees up on the sofa, spreading them wider, lifting Mickey’s hips up to meet him, the new angle causing him to drive into Mickey even deeper. He craved being fully immersed in Mickey, occupying all the space around him, against him,  _ inside of him _ . He was dripping sweat with each slow thrust, plunging all the way in before dragging himself all the way out, repeating the process over and over. 

Mickey tilted his head and captured Ian’s lips, kissing and licking into his mouth with a velvet tongue. Ian was hitting his prostate dead on each time he pushed forward and he could feel himself creeping closer and closer to the inevitable edge. Ian picked up on the change immediately, cuing in to the rising pitch of Mickey’s moaning, recognizing the almost imperceptible shift.

Sooner than Ian would’ve expected given his unhurried pace, he too found himself dangerously close finishing. “ _ Mick _ …” He retreated from Mickey’s lips in order to give the warning.

Mickey opened his eyes then, the remaining air escaping his lungs as he found himself staring up into  _ green  _ \- the color of Ian’s eyes almost appearing ethereal. Ian was keeping time with the drumming of rain on the window, and Mickey could only  _ watch _ him in wonder. 

“ **_Fuck_ ** _ , I love you _ …” 

It took Mickey a few seconds to realize the words came out of his mouth, whispered like an ancient secret. Ian’s eyes widened, his pupils dilating, the sentiment taking his breath away.

Mickey  _ loved _ him. 

Ian slowly came to a stop, stilling the movement of his hips altogether, his eyes welling with tears. “ _I love_ _you_ _too_.” He spoke softly, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world - to finally say it out loud. Ian’s eyes searched Mickey’s, as an actual tear escaped, sliding down his cheek to the tip of his nose.

Mickey was having trouble breathing. He spontaneously flung his arms over his face, nearly smacking Ian’s head in the process and he craned his neck to the side, trying to block all of the new and overwhelming information out. He took a hitching breath, pushing at Ian’s hip with his thigh and pulling him in again trying to spur him into motion. 

Ian blinked at the sight of Mickey’s forearms crossed in front of him, inches away from his own face - a completely unexpected response. When the stray tear dropped onto Mickey’s arm, it managed to successfully shake Ian out of his reverie. Feeling embarrassed, Ian reached up to wipe the wetness away with the back of his hand, before Mickey’s urging registered in his mind and he picked up his thrusting yet again. For a solid minute, Mickey’s silence had Ian feeling unsure about whether he should speed up or stop altogether - until Ian heard him, of course.

“ _ Fuck… _ ” Mickey moaned, his entire body rocking every time Ian’s hips dipped forward. Each thrust was deep, and hard, and metered out perfectly with the roll of his hips. Mickey had to look away - combining what he had said with constant eye contact was too much for him. He did want to cum, and have Ian finish inside of him, neither of which would happen if he couldn’t concentrate. 

_ Does he regret saying it? _ It was too horrible for Ian to consider, so he focused on re-centering himself within Mickey and giving his all. Mickey could take it or leave it, but at the end of the day, Ian’s feelings had also been exposed and there was no turning back. Ian held himself up, holding onto the arm of the sofa above Mickey’s head and driving into him with increasing speed, feeling his balls tighten as they smacked against Mickey’s skin. “Fuck, I’m close.” He moaned. 

Mickey couldn’t stop himself. As soon as he heard the words leave Ian’s mouth, he reached up and pulled his boyfriend down by the neck, practically attacking his lips. 

Stunned by his sudden movement, Ian met Mickey’s lips willingly, letting his hands slip down off of the sofa and slide beneath Mickey instead. And, when he could no longer stand to hold off, Ian gave into his release - pouring hot cum deep inside of Mickey, and fucking it deeper with each thrust, as long as Ian could stand to keep moving. He let the orgasm wrack his body as he tightened his arms around Mickey, perfectly content to never let him go. 

Mickey moaned loudly into Ian’s mouth as he came in several explosive bursts, coating his own chest as well as Ian’s, while digging his fingers into the flesh of his boyfriend’s back. He was sure there would be several little crescent shaped divots marking his skin when they were through. 

Ian pressed his face into Mickey’s neck as he rode his high, gliding his hips in minuscule motions before he came to a stop and simply laid himself down on top of Mickey. He was slightly worried about crushing his boyfriend under his weight, but by the way Mickey was squeezing the life out of him, he was sure that Mickey would be fine. Hell, maybe Mickey even found the position as comforting as Ian found it. Ian kept his eyes closed as he nuzzled into Mickey’s neck, staying silent in the wake of all that had been said. 

In the quiet of the aftershocks, Mickey panted deeply and allowed Ian’s weight to anchor him to the moment, listening to the rhythm of the rain outside and trying to stop his heart from racing. Mickey would have stayed in the position for longer, if he hadn’t felt so suddenly claustrophobic. He began to squirm, unable to make a sound as he tried desperately to catch his breath. 

“Shit, what’s wrong?” Ian pulled out of him carefully as he felt Mickey fidgeting under him, waking him out of his exhausted stupor. He rolled to lay on his side between Mickey and the back of the sofa, holding Mickey’s cheek in his hand. “What…?” He didn’t even know what question to lead with, but he landed on, “What can I do?” Trying his best to be of some help. He knew this situation wasn’t easy for either of them, but the least he could do was comfort Mickey. 

Mickey practically dragged himself up to his feet and stood, his stomach sticky and the remnants of Ian shifting inside of him. He turned away from Ian and raised his hands above his head, lacing his fingers together, as he felt embarrassment wash over him in a sickening wave.  _ Who fucking does that?  _ Mickey berated himself. Who fucking admits they love someone with nine inches of that person stuffed inside of them? It was hard for Mickey to believe he had actually done it. And the worst part was, it wasn’t something he could shrug off and pretend he didn’t mean. Because he  _ did  _ mean it. Mickey meant it with every cell in his body, every atom of his being. He knew he had to face up to it finally, even just to himself. 

Mickey gritted his teeth and turned, whipping around and facing a very concerned looking Ian, who was now sitting upright on the sofa - watching him. 

Mickey took a step forward, a few daring inches closer, and spoke. 

“I meant it.” Mickey choked out, hearing the nerves in his scratchy tone, hoarse from moaning. “I fucking meant what I said, alright? I  _ love _ you. I’m pretty goddamn sure that I’m  _ in _ love with you, actually.” He met Ian’s eyes, and saw the glisten of tears in them. 

Ian nodded as he slowly stood from the sofa and cautiously approached Mickey, brushing away his tears as he broke into a smile. He understood now. He understood the trepidation, and why Mickey was so anxious to admit such intimate things. The emotion in the room was palpable and neither of them had been forced to deal with it before this moment. He reached out his hands and set them on Mickey’s shoulders, steadying him in place and bending so that they were eye level. 

“I  **_love_ ** you too, Mickey Milkovich. Pretty sure I have for a while now.” Ian swallowed the lump forming in his throat and chuckled wetly as his vision blurred through the now unstoppable tears. “And now I’m fuckin’ cryin’. Look what you started.” He joked as he pulled Mickey against him, into a bone crushing hug, tucking him into his protective embrace. As an added bonus, Ian was able to hide his tears in Mickey’s hair, mitigating his own self-consciousness. “Just breathe, Mick. We’re gonna be okay.” Ian decided to take his own advice, breathing in deeply through his nose, taking in Mickey’s naturally intoxicating scent, which calmed him down immensely.

“You soft bitch,” Mickey found himself laughing weakly, and he was almost positive that he was crying too, but it didn’t seem to matter. He kissed the salty tears from Ian’s freckled cheek, and just let himself be open for a moment. Mickey didn’t think he’d ever been able to breathe so easily before in his life. 

“I’m not soft, you’re soft.” Ian huffed, poking Mickey’s ass. “ _ You _ said  _ it _ first.” He teased, knowing it would make Mickey flush. He held Mickey close - standing there in the middle of his living room, both naked and emotional - and Ian decided that he really wouldn’t have it any other way. Both Mickey and the moment were made just for him. 

“Yeah, and don’t make me fuckin’ regret it,” Mickey growled and gave Ian a little shove, snickering when the man’s grip on him didn’t slip an inch. Mickey was pulled closer by Ian’s large hands on either side of his head and pressed tighter against Ian’s broad chest, and he grinned wickedly when he felt the cum on his stomach transfer directly onto Ian. “Well shit. You got a shower around here?” 

Ian smiled down at Mickey, the tips of their noses bumping against one another as he swayed from side to side, high on happiness. “Yeah I do, but good luck getting me to let you go...” He murmured, focusing on each of the striking features of Mickey’s face, before settling on his swollen lips. “Yeah.. I’m  _ positive _ I’m in love with you.” Ian bent to capture Mickey’s lips, finding a few more slivers of space to occupy, pressing even closer.

Mickey kissed him and kissed him, smiling like a fool all the while. He felt Ian tugging at him, and without much thought, Mickey let himself go limp just enough for Ian to hoist him up off of the ground. He knew it was some romcom shit, but Mickey didn’t really care- there, in the privacy of Ian’s little apartment, minutes after finding out Ian loved him back. 

Mickey’s heart soared. Ian  _ loved _ him. 

_ Maybe even I deserve some romcom shit, at least once _ , Mickey thought. 

*

True to his word, Ian hardly let go of Mickey throughout the entire shower, too elated to ever fully set him back on the ground or leave him be. He was cheesing too hard to manage kissing Mickey for more than a few seconds at a time, which was the only reason either of them managed to actually get clean at all.

Afterwards, Ian found Mickey a pair of his sweatpants and a tank top to borrow, stopping to poke some fun when his boyfriend had to yank the pants up high and roll the waistband a few times for them to fit properly. Ian threw on another pair of sweats which doubled as his pajamas before he climbed onto his bed, crawling across to the side pressed against the wall. He normally slept on the other edge of his bed, closest to his nightstand where his phone rested, just in case he’d get a text or a call, but there was no need for that tonight. The only person in the world he wanted to talk to was right there next to him. 

He got under his covers and then watched Mickey eyeing him. “C’mon.” He patted the space next to him, offering his arm as Mickey’s own personal pillow. 

Mickey could hardly believe what was happening. He only hesitated for a moment before accepting Ian’s implied invitation, sinking into the mattress beside him. Rolling onto his side, Mickey shimmied downward until he and Ian were at eye level with one another, his head resting on Ian’s extended arm. He had never spent much time thinking about Ian’s apartment, or his bedroom, but the coziness of it all just seemed to fit. Given the shitty weather outside, Mickey had never been happier to be snuggled up in bed next to someone - especially this particular someone. 

“Hi.” Ian smiled like a goofball. He walked his fingers up Mickey’s chest and ran them along his clavicle, sticking out of the top of the tanktop he had borrowed. 

“You are such a fuckin’ dork, man.” Mickey hummed, watching Ian’s fingers dance idly around, tracing lazy patterns and making his damp flesh tingle. He hadn’t yet finished processing everything that had been said, everything they’d released out into the open. 

“I’ll take it. You’re the nerd in this relationship, my little  _ coder _ .” Ian cooed warmly. “How’s your game coming along, by the way?” He asked. Not only was Ian genuinely curious about Mickey’s project, but he also knew that if he didn’t initiate a conversation, he would be perfectly content to lay there and stare at Mickey for hours on end, until they both feel asleep.

Mickey snorted at Ian’s persistent goofiness and shrugged. “It’s alright.” He replied modestly. “Matteo had one of his IT friends over and she said it wasn’t total shit, so that was cool I guess. Maybe I’ll show ya tomorrow…” Ever since his inclusion of the redheaded character, Mickey had been too embarrassed to show it to Ian, knowing the reference would definitely be picked up on. Now, Mickey figured he didn’t have anything left to be embarrassed by. 

“That sounds good. So, that means… you’re definitely gonna stay the night, right?” Ian asked hopefully, fisting the front of the tank top and pulling Mickey in. 

Mickey chuckled as he was dragged closer. “Yeah dumbass… I’m stayin’. What, you thought I just wanted to cuddle?” He faked putting up a little fight, squirming away from Ian the second Ian let go of him, only to be dragged back into position. 

“Yeah well, that’s what it looks like. Even though you haven’t gotten close enough to cuddle me yet.” Ian teased, gesturing to the few inches of space between their bodies. A cocky smirk pulled up the corner of his mouth as he threw his long leg over top of Mickey, and letting his arm settle over Mickey’s waist. “There. That’s better. Cuddling.” He chirped, grinding his lower half into Mickey’s hip. 

“Christ, go away you horny fuck!” Mickey laughed almost musically, as he struggled to free himself from under the weight of Ian’s leg and eventually just succumbed to it when all was said and done. Ian smiled and gently ran his nose along the length of Mickey’s.

“You want me to go? Leave you here to be horny in my bed in peace?” Ian joked, making his point by sliding his hand down Mickey’s back and squeezing his ass. “‘Cause if we’re comparing whose hornier, you’ve got me beat.” He winked, trying to hold in his laughter. 

Mickey grunted and flipped Ian without warning, rolling him onto his back and hovering over him. He stared down at the wide eyes beneath him, drinking in the surprise that shone back at him in the warm glow of Ian’s room. Mickey couldn’t resist. He dipped low and kissed Ian, once, twice, until they practically started to melt together. 

Ian moaned against Mickey’s lips - no matter what, he knew he could never get enough. “I love you.” He murmured, pressing his lips to Mickey’s twice after saying it. It was an all-consuming feeling and now that he had admitted it once, he felt a little more comfortable saying it again and again.

Ian was coming to realize that he didn’t think he’d ever truly loved anyone before, at least not in this way, because those feelings were exclusive to Mickey. That’s what love had grown to mean in Ian’s mind. Talking to Mickey. Kissing him. FaceTiming him when he was away. Checking in on him when he was home. Getting a text in the middle of the night and waking up just to read it. Fucking each other like wild animals, or making love so slowly that every feeling inside of him seemed to finally make sense. Being completely transparent with one another.

The beautiful man leaning over him had somehow become his  _ everything _ , and that thought frightened Ian as much as it excited him. How could  _ he _ be responsible for another person’s heart? And Mickey Milkovich’s, no less. It was a daunting concept - he had barely been able to take care of his own over the years. Yet, one look into Mickey’s eyes and it all seemed so clear. Ian recognized he really had no choice in the matter. There was no doubt in his mind that he wanted to be the only person to take care of Mickey.

Ian was ready for it all, because Mickey  _ loved _ him back.

Mickey heard Ian say the words again - just a whisper against his lips, and he felt his entire body vibrate with the excitement and warmth of it. In between kisses, Ian was just looking at him, like something precious, something  _ important _ . No one had ever looked at him like that before. 

“Say it again.” Mickey breathed into the space between them. He wanted to hear it a thousand times. 

Ian flipped their positions, rolling over on top of Mickey. He didn’t pin Mickey’s hands down for once, choosing instead to plant kisses in as many areas as he could reach, saying the magical words each time his lips made contact with a new patch of skin. A kiss to his temple, “I love you,”; a kiss to his neck, “I love you,”; a kiss to every inch of his face was of course followed with “I love you”- meaning each one just as much as the last.

Ian pulled away to look into Mickey’s eyes, gazing into them for a moment before speaking. “I love you a whole lot, Mick. And, I’m happy...  _ you _ make me happy.” Ian corrected himself before adding. “That’s never gonna change.” 

Mickey opened his mouth to speak but could hardly choke out a sound. He wished such emotions came naturally to him. He wished he knew how to process love and acceptance the way he should. Above all, he wished he had the language to express himself - to give back to Ian everything that he had been given. To let Ian know he felt exactly the same way. 

“Me too…” Mickey was finally able to mumble. 

“Yeah?” Ian smiled. “I  _ love that _ .” 

Ian settled against Mickey, laying down to continue their little make out session. The moment didn’t last long however, as his stomach began to growl loudly, effectively interrupting them. “ _ Ugh _ .” Ian huffed, the annoyance visible on his face.

Mickey snickered and poked at Ian’s side. “Worked up an appetite earlier, huh?” He joked, wiggling his eyebrows. “Good thing you still have an entire fridge of Chinese food out there.” 

“I still can’t believe how much money you spent on me, man.” Ian made good use of his long limbs, crawling over Mickey and rising up from the bed, smacking Mickey’s thigh gently with the back of his hand. “If I go get some, you better eat more too.” He squinted at Mickey before turning for the door. 

“You’d better bring me some of those little egg roll fuckers, there’s a lot of ‘em and they’ve all got my name on ’em!” Mickey yelled, fixating on Ian’s ass which traipsed the room to retrieve and warm up whatever he could. 

He made quick work of gathering enough food for both of them on a tray. “Dinner in bed.” Ian announced a few minutes later on the way back into the room with a smile. “If you’re extra good, I might even bring you breakfast in bed.” He winked, setting the tray down on the bedside table.

“Well shit,” Mickey sat up against the headboard and reached over for an egg roll. “Didn’t realize this was a full service bed and breakfast. Woulda come over sooner.” He smiled widely listening to Ian’s laughter before joining in on it, watching Ian climb up beside him and feeling the mattress depress around him slightly at the added weight. He picked up a second egg roll and handed it to Ian, clinking them together in a sort of cheers before taking a massive bite. 

Mickey sighed contentedly around a mouthful of food. “This is the fuckin’  _ life _ , man.”

*

The next morning, the second Mickey surfaced from slumber, he felt a small spike of panic. It had something to do with the arms curled around him and the steady warm breath fanning over the back of his neck. For a minute, Mickey forgot where he was, and who was holding him - he was transported back to the Northside, in his cold California king sized bed, with Clyde clinging to his back like a spider monkey, smothering what little life was left in him. 

However, on this morning, when Mickey looked down at the arms holding him and allowed his vision to adjust, his heartbeat slowed immediately upon seeing the fine strawberry blonde arm hair, interspersed with sun kissed freckles dappled over pale skin - all covering the strong hands and sinewy arms like a chaotic game of connect the dots.

_ Ian _ . 

Mickey felt every ounce of tension leave him as he melted back into the embrace.

Just conscious enough to sense Mickey wriggling against him, Ian lazily rubbed his open palm against Mickey’s chest in calming circles, trying to soothe him back to sleep like a fussy child. “S’naptime bub…” He hummed, only half awake, settling back into a pattern of light snores directly afterward. Too much time spent babysitting Freddie had that effect on him - he’d said the phrase one too many times, and so he subconsciously repeated it to Mickey.

Mickey couldn’t help but laugh. “ _ S’morning _ , dickhead…” He muttered into the pillow, absently grinding back into the hollow of Ian’s hips, feeling his boyfriend's morning wood rub against the back of his borrowed sweatpants. Thankfully the room was illuminated enough by the cracks in Ian’s blinds that Mickey could see his phone laying on the nightstand, next to two empty containers of Chinese food from the previous night. Without thinking, he reached over to check it - and felt his heart drop into his stomach at the message on the screen. 

Clyde (7:52):  _ I haven’t heard much from you. When should I expect you home today?  _

Ian groaned, letting out a pitiful whine when Mickey moved away from his chest to reach for his phone. The last thing he wanted to do was wake up. Not only was he content to sleep with Mickey in his arms, but he had been in the midst of a particularly enjoyable dream featuring his boyfriend and he was eager to return to it. Ian fought off gaining full consciousness by tugging Mickey back against his chest like a body pillow and burying his face into the man’s back. 

Mickey, for his part, simply gave in and let it happen. He hadn’t opened Clyde’s text, so he decided to just answer later - or potentially, not at all. As Ian reeled him in and snuggled back into him, Mickey couldn’t help but forget all about his problems. He still had quite a few more hours left with Ian, and he was planning on making the most of it. 

“ _ Mine _ .” Ian mumbled against Mickey’s spine, kissing along the ridges that poked from the skin. “What time is it?” He yawned and slid his leg between both of Mickey’s, in order to stretch it out after being curled around someone else’s body all night. 

“I dunno. You didn’t gimme a chance to look.” The yawn was contagious and Mickey found himself copying Ian, his eyes watering. He twisted in his boyfriend’s embrace, until they were looking at one another. Ian looked so soft and groggy, that Mickey had to laugh. “Apparently, it’s too fuckin’ early.” He snickered. 

Mickey thought back to how much sleep the man had been getting the entire time he was away, and the thought hit him that Ian had opened up about his disorder over FaceTime. Was it the right time to talk about it? He didn’t know, but he sure as hell didn’t know how to bring it up. “You, uh… got somewhere to be? Work, or some shit?” 

_ Fuckin’ smooth _ , Mickey berated himself silently.  _ Real fuckin’ smooth.  _

Ian yawned again - even more aggressively - and eyed Mickey’s shoulder, debating nuzzling his face there so he could go back to sleep. “No, today’s my last day off. So I’ve got you all to myself.” He smiled, rubbing the sleep from one of his eyes. His features were a lot softer as his face was squished up against his pillow and for once he looked his age. His blissful ignorance was not to last and soon reality came rushing back to Ian. In retaliation, he closed his eyes and physically retreated back to the comfort of Mickey’s presence, enjoying the little break it was affording his brain. Ian soaked up every second of happiness, running his fingers up and down Mickey’s back. He still couldn’t quite believe that Mickey was in his bed. It was something he’d imagined for a while, long before he was certain whether or not Mickey even intended to actually choose him.

But, Mickey  _ chose _ him. 

Ian leaned to peck a kiss to Mickey’s nose before leaning back to get another good look at him, trying to determine how Mickey was feeling without asking.

Mickey was trying to hide his concern, trying not to come off as a nosey prick. “Last day off?” He averted his gaze, staring at the window behind Ian’s head, watching flecks of dust dance in the concentrated beams of light projecting through the slats of the blinds. 

Ian saw that Mickey was avoiding his eyes at all costs, and he could practically feel the unease spreading out from his boyfriend’s body, infecting his own. This was solely based on the fact that Mickey was dancing around the subject, which was hardly his MO - Mickey was typically as straightforward as they come. Rolling onto his back, Ian stared up at the ceiling as he collected his thoughts, realizing for once that he wasn’t afraid to talk about the issues Mickey was no doubt attempting to discuss in his own ineffective way. 

Mickey  _ loved _ him. 

And Ian knew Mickey hadn’t been completely in the dark when he’d made his confession the night before. He knew the risks, every single one, and he’d still said it anyway. Not to mention, Ian had promised to talk about his illness when they were finally in person, and if he didn’t decide to do it right then and there, he had no way of knowing exactly when he would have the opportunity in the future.

“Yeah, I called the pool cleaning company on Saturday and asked to shift my appointments from Sunday to next weekend and they agreed. I don’t ask them that often, and I don’t complain about where they send me either so… it works out for me.” Ian drummed his fingers on his chest, just to stifle the jittery energy in his hands. “And at work, my supervisors all know about… the situation. We have an agreement. If I hit a low, I sit out for a few days, no matter what, until I feel like my head’s on straight. I get docked a little of that week’s pay and that’s fine with me. Didn’t work the hours to earn it anyway…” He shrugged and then glanced over in Mickey’s direction. “Four days is pretty standard for me, so I’ll be going back tomorrow.” 

Mickey listened, trying his best to make eye contact, taking it all in. He didn’t want to give off the impression that talking about Ian’s illness made him uncomfortable - God knows he had dealt with far worse subjects in his lifetime. His fear mainly involved fucking up - not being able to say or do the right things, the things Ian needed from him. 

_ Maybe he just needs me to listen _ , Mickey realized. 

Still, when Ian paused and left space for him to respond, Mickey felt the need to ask a follow up. “So… you sure you’re ready? To go back tomorrow, I mean…” He knew he was being as subtle as a shotgun, but he had no idea how to broach the subject. It had seemed a little easier over Facetime somehow. There was no distance to buffer him now. 

“Yeah, I went to my doc on Sunday and got my meds adjusted, the side effects have been annoying, but manageable so far. I won’t be able to judge them until they all wear off. But, I’m  _ happy _ .” He repeated, as much for himself as for Mickey. “You coming here, really made me fucking happy. Happier than I’ve been in a while. So thank you.” Ian caressed Mickey’s cheek, bribing his lover to sustain eye contact.

Mickey felt himself blushing, the redness flushing over his face. “Don’t thank me, man. I was goin’ a little nuts bein’ so far away. ” He hummed, shrugging off the compliment. “Fuckin’ missed you like hell...” Mickey admitted, finally meeting Ian’s gaze. Saying it somehow felt even more vulnerable than the previous nights “ _ I love you’ _ s”. It was one thing to love someone - to be  _ in _ love with them even. It was another to come clean about  _ needing _ them. Missing their presence. But, Mickey knew he couldn’t deny it any more. 

He  _ needed _ Ian. 

“I missed you too.” Ian exhaled softly, observing the sudden blush warming Mickey’s cheeks. “More than you’ll ever know…” He had yet to mention that he’d worked out the instigating factor of his downward spiral to be not only the uncertainties in their relationship, but also Mickey’s departure. And he wasn’t sure that he should ever mention it. He didn’t want to make this upcoming separation any harder on Mickey, so why make his life difficult by admitting what he knew to be true? That Mickey helped to get him through a hard day, to keep him on track, to feel worthy. “But, I  _ love _ having you here now.” Ian smiled cheekily as he said the word, bending down to slot his lips against Mickey’s, parting them slowly. 

Mickey let the feeling of Ian’s skin and morning stubble wash over him, and felt like all the pieces inside of him might finally fit into place - like Ian had rearranged him somehow. 

“We gonna lay around all day?” Mickey inquired, when Ian finally let him breathe. “Or are we gonna go get some grub? I’m fuckin’  _ hungry _ .” 

“You mean I gotta feed you too? You don’t come with every meal prepackaged like last night? I should’ve realized that before I subscribed to this whole boyfriend deal.” Ian flopped on top of the man, pretending to be hungry enough to bite at Mickey’s cheek. He grunted as he stood up from the bed, tucking Mickey back in when he tried to follow. “Actually, I was serious about breakfast in bed. I’ll be back in ten minutes.” Ian wanted to keep Mickey by his side for as long as possible, but he was also trying to be somewhat of a good host. “Sit tight, I’ll bring you some coffee. You take it black, right?” 

Mickey sprawled himself out onto the now vacant mattress, taking up as much space as he could. “You got it,” He praised, nuzzling into the pillows. He must have drifted off to sleep for a few minutes, because by the time he stirred again, Ian was placing the coffee cup down on the bedside table, next to the empty takeout containers from the night before. 

After setting the mug down, Ian reached out his hand and smoothed it across the portion of Mickey’s chest peeking out from under the comforter in a familiar way, as if it was something he did every morning. “You look good in my bed.” He noted. “Like you belong there.” 

As Ian took a seat on the edge of the bed, Mickey pulled himself up and planted a kiss on Ian’s bare shoulder, before grabbing the mug and taking a sip of the scalding coffee. “Yeah?” Mickey shrugged. “Better watch yourself. Keep talkin’ like that, and I’m never gonna leave…” 

Ian simply smiled because his alternative was to beg Mickey for that dream of his to come true. “I got french toast ready and I’m makin’ eggs too. How do you want ‘em?” He asked as he absently massaged Mickey’s thigh a little. 

“Holy shit,” Mickey chuckled, swinging his legs over the side of bed to sit beside Ian. He rubbed at his eyes, and bumped his shoulder against his boyfriend’s. “That’s it. You’re fuckin’ stuck with me… And sunny-side, for the eggs.”

“Good.” Ian responded, eyeing the slight puffiness under Mickey’s eyes and the messiness of his hair falling over onto his forehead. He pushed Mickey’s hair away from his face and kissed his lips gently, guiding Mickey’s hand to deposit the mug safely back onto the bedside table. With this done, Ian climbed up onto Mickey’s lap, deepening the kiss as he tilted Mickey’s face up towards his own. He had tried to avoid this all morning, not wanting to scare Mickey off by ravaging him right away, but now it couldn’t be helped. 

Mickey knew, if given the chance, he and Ian would actually spend the entire day in bed, just touching and kissing and exploring the new unfolding layers of their relationship - as they’d done all night. He allowed Ian to straddle him, feeling a bit like he was being consumed by the larger man. “French toast smells good,” Mickey panted in between kisses. “Don’t want that shit to get cold…” He grinned up at Ian, who appeared minorly affronted that he wasn’t the only thing taking up Mickey’s attention. 

“Fuckin’ foodie. C’mon, no more laying in bed for you- since you can’t find anything to  _ do  _ in here.” Ian insinuated. He stood and took Mickey’s hand, barely giving him time to grab his coffee as he pulled Mickey along, out of the room and into the kitchen. 

*

They took their time eating at Ian’s little dining table in front of the window. The outside world was still damp from the downpour on the previous night, and Mickey chewed thoughtfully on his french toast and sunny-side eggs as he peered out the window and down onto the street. The sun was peeking out now, over the tops of the surrounding buildings, and everything felt calm and still. Peaceful. 

Mickey drained his second cup of coffee and set the mug down on the table. “So what’s the plan today?” He asked Ian, who was busy swirling the last bite of his french toast in a puddle of syrup. “Better make it good.” He winked. 

“Well I was thinking a little nipple pinching, then some ass eating, maybe a little fuckin’ on the floor…” Ian teased, chewing the last bite of his food - looking like a goddamn chipmunk with his cheeks puffed up on either side of his cheerful smile. 

“Mmmm, I like the sound of  _ that _ .” Mickey hummed, gathering up his empty plate and utensils and standing to collect Ian’s. He wandered over to Ian’s kitchen sink and dumped the dirty dishes there, running warm water over the pile. “You plannin’ to wear me out, tough guy?” 

“Hell yeah I am.” Ian leaned back in his chair and tilted his head to the side, following the curve of Mickey’s round ass. “Those sweatpants are really doing it for me, man.” He smirked, jokingly tugging on the crotch of his own sweatpants. 

Mickey gave Ian a knowing glance over his shoulder. “You never fuckin’ quit, do ya?” He shook his head, circling back to stand behind Ian, slapping lightly at the tops of his shoulders . “Seriously, man. What’s it gonna be? Gotta make the most of this time before…” Mickey trailed off. He didn’t know why he kept coming back to it. As much as he was thoroughly enjoying himself, he knew their time together was short- at least for now. 

Ian tilted his head to the side, kissing Mickey’s arm and then craned his head back to look up at him. “We will.” Ian promised. Standing from the chair, he took Mickey’s hand and brought him into the living room, turning on the tv. “Let’s binge watch our show, get in as many episodes as we can.” Ian wanted to do anything Mickey wanted to do, but he also didn’t want Mickey to think that he was only there for one thing. Ian just wanted  _ time _ with him. “It’s more fun to watch together, anyway.”

Mickey let himself flop down on the couch, spreading out his legs. “Sounds like a plan to me. Plus, we still got all that food to finish.” He snickered, throwing Ian the remote. 

Ian caught it and smirked at Mickey, turning to crawl forward on his knees and settle on top of his boyfriend. “Mmh,  _ yeah _ we do. We don’t even need to leave.” He replied as he made himself comfortable, slouching into Mickey, squishing his face against the man’s pec and flipping on the tv. 

They settled in to watch, and Mickey eventually zoned into the show and out of reality. Before he realized it, he was methodically running his fingers through Ian’s hair, which had settled into loose curls from their shower the night before. Every once in a while, Ian would shift his weight and reposition himself again - spitting out some random factoid or making some dumb joke. Mickey would snort and look down at him, marveling at the handsome ginger. 

Ian held onto Mickey’s bicep, squeezing it in excitement at least twice an episode. What otherwise would have seemed like a day wasted - managed to feel important with him, and Ian found himself actually relaxing, laying there with Mickey. A sense of contentment had settled deep into his bones, paired with the keen awareness that he needed to soak it all in while he had the chance. Although the thought of not seeing Mickey for an unknown period of time still made Ian's chest feel tight and his head throb, it didn’t upset him nearly as much as it had the first time Mickey had brought it up. Maybe it was because now he knew how Mickey felt about him. No more guessing. No more ‘what ifs’. 

And, with his temple pressed to Mickey’s chest, he could feel his boyfriend’s heart thumping steadily beneath the palm of his hand, and it fucking felt like love. Ian lifted his head suddenly, catching Mickey by surprise as he pressed forward to steal a kiss - to cover Mickey’s lips with his own just because he could - all the while professing the profound truth once again.

“I love you.” Ian whispered. “ _ God _ , I love you.”

*

They spent the day like that, mostly, apart from the moments when they absolutely had to tear themselves away from one another to take a piss or grab some food. Otherwise, Ian and Mickey found themselves inseparable, considering each of them knew how sacred their time together was.

They took turns using each other as their own personal pillow, and Mickey decided the only thing he enjoyed more than having Ian pressed against him was feeling the steady rise of and fall of Ian’s strong chest beneath his cheek. Mickey had never been held by anyone before - not like that. 

Clyde had never really shown him such affection if there wasn’t something in it for him - and there typically wasn’t. 

At one point, Mickey even brought out his laptop, after Ian reminded him that he had promised to show off his project. According to Ian, it was shaping up to become a masterpiece, and Mickey accepted the compliments with his usual routine of deflection and lovable aggression. Conveniently, Mickey remembered the parts of his game where the words  _ redheaded  _ and  _ prince _ popped up most often, and managed to steer Ian clear of them. Even with everything out in the open, he still felt embarrassed by the time and effort he had put in to incorporate an obvious literary likeness of his boyfriend into the game - but Mickey vowed to show him one day, when he was damn well ready.

By the time night fell, the warm feeling Mickey had been experiencing all day began to melt, giving way to a horrible ache in his stomach - the dread of having to return home. It wasn’t until they stood at the doorway, gearing up to say goodbye, that the reality of the whole situation became unavoidable.

“I… I can go halfway and then you can drop me at the station? I’m sure someone will be getting off of their shift in time to drive me home.” Ian rubbed at the back of his neck as he watched Mickey take a thousand years to slip on his black leather jacket, flipping and folding the collar and fucking around with the zipper for an absurd length of time.

Mickey seriously considered the offer. Of course he wanted to spend as much time with Ian as physically possible, but having Ian tag along felt a bit like belaboring the inevitable - it was going to be hard enough as it was. Mickey had to remind himself it was temporary, but the separation felt like giving up a piece of himself none the less. 

“Nah man,I gotta leave you here. I don’t think I can handle it...” Mickey sighed dejectedly. 

Ian simply nodded, unwilling to put up more of an argument. It was all he could do to put on a brave face, kind of like he used to do for Fiona when he was a kid - pretending he was happier than he really was just so she wouldn’t worry. Ian smiled softly, for both of their sakes. He reached out to cup Mickey’s face in both hands and gently tilt his face upward, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. 

“You’re a Milkovich, kid. You can handle anything.” Ian could help but put on a ridiculous old-hollywood transatlantic accent - like a boxing referee, just to lighten the somber mood. He knocked his knuckles against Mickey’s jaw playfully, before smoothing his thumb over the same area, patting his cheek in a simple display of affection. In a more serious tone, he added, “But you don’t gotta handle it all on your own, ya know. You’ve got me.” 

“Thanks, man…” Mickey murmured. He knew it was true. He knew he could handle whatever shit Clyde was planning to put him through. He’d handled worse. And Clyde didn’t fucking scare him. Mickey turned his face upward yet again, eyes closed, likes pursed slightly, waiting for the next kiss to land. 

Ian didn’t disappoint, barely able to stop grinning for long enough to make contact with Mickey’s lips. He found Mickey desirable in just about every way possible, but Mickey’s silent bid for affection was fucking downright adorable - although he was sure Mickey would fight him on it if he said it. “And guess what?” Ian continued right where he left off once he came up for air.

“What?” Mickey wondered breathlessly, more of an exhale than an actual question. His eyes roved over Ian’s face, taking in every detail, every freckle in the constellation. He was thoroughly mesmerized, wanting to memorize each detail for when shit got really hard. Mickey didn’t know how he was going to manage it - how he was going to be able to fucking stay away from one of the best people he had ever met in his entire life. It seemed impossible - and so Mickey quickly decided he had to stop thinking about it or he would never leave. 

“I love you.” Ian repeated, his smile only growing as the warmth in his chest expanded. He decided he didn’t give a fuck if it got annoying, he would never stop saying it. It would never be any less true.

Mickey felt the heat rise up through his body, flushing his cheeks and setting him on fire from the inside out - a sensation he had long since become accustomed too. He had a feeling hearing Ian say those words would never get old. 

“I fucking love you too…” Mickey squeezed Ian hard, just once, hoping to convey how deeply he meant it, and how special it was that he was even admitting it out loud yet again. He finally had to peel himself away, or he figured they’d be stuck in the same spot for ages. “Walk me down to the car?” Mickey asked, almost automatically. It would slow him down, sure, but it would also soothe the pain of leaving. 

“‘Course.” Ian put on his slides and opened the door a moment later, happy to do whatever Mickey asked of him and happier still to get a few more minutes with him. “Hey, I didn’t ask how you got past the lobby last night…” Ian commented as they strolled down the hallway to the elevator, not bothering to lock his door behind him. 

“Oh, uh, some old guy let me in,” Mickey walked backward a few paces to make sure Ian was trailing after him. “Said he lives on this floor.” When they reached the elevators, Mickey pushed the button and hoped the thing would take its damn time coming, so he could stretch out the moment for infinity. 

“Mr. Coleman? Uh… he say anything else?” Ian asked, turning red in the face. He willed the elevator to move faster to ensure that said neighbor wouldn’t make any sudden appearances. Unfortunately, he didn’t seem to stop soon enough, causing Ian to bump straight into Mickey’s chest, knocking him back into the elevator doors. “Shit, sorry!” Ian yanked on Mickey’s shirt with one hand and his hips with the other, pulling Mickey flush against him and rubbing his back in apology. 

Mickey could help but chuckle at how flustered Ian was becoming. The elevator dinged and the door slid open, allowing them both to step inside. Mickey tugged Ian in after him - sporting a smug smirk and a single raised eyebrow. “Yeah, actually. The old bastard called you ‘strong’ and ‘handsome’- in that fucking order.” Mickey let himself be pressed against the wall of the elevator as they descended down into the parking garage. “Why? This mean I got some  _ competition _ ?” He teased. 

“Oh  _ GOD _ no.” Ian shook his head and crowded Mickey’s space, resting their foreheads together, smirking at Mickey’s attempt to take the piss. “I told him I’m not into old guys, but somehow I think he knew I was lying - ‘cause there  _ is _ this one in particular…” Ian hooked his finger behind the zipper of Mickey’s open jacket, dragging his finger lower suggestively. “Short, stocky, always pissed off about something. Looks sexy in leather,  _ great _ ass-”

“Fuck you, bitch!” Mickey gave Ian a halfhearted shove, but pulled him back in before he could go very far. “ _ Old _ my ass! I’m like two years older than you!” He laughed, sobering quickly when the elevator came to a creaking halt at its destination. 

“Uh huh, and I managed to overlook that and still think you’re hot.” Ian winked, seeing the smile slip off of Mickey’s face and trying to stay lighthearted for the both of them. He snatched up Mickey’s wrist and led him out of the elevator, directly towards his tarp covered SUV which stuck out like the mother of all sore thumbs amongst the other vehicles, by its height alone.

“I got her washed and detailed for you yesterday. Good timing , huh?” Ian pulled a huge tarp off of the car, one he’d borrowed from Lip’s bike shop gig to keep the car clean and out of sight, digging the key fob out of his pocket.

“Thanks for taking care of her, man.” Mickey eyed the keys. He could see how reluctant Ian was to hand them over - almost as reluctant as Mickey was to take them from him. Upon reaching for the keys and picking them out of Ian’s hand, Mickey saw a few shiny things dangling from them - _new_ things that had not been there before. “What the fuck is _this_?” Mickey snickered, holding the keys up in front of his face. 

“Look- I know it’s corny, but I wanted to get you something you could take with you. I figured these were small so he wouldn’t notice.” Ian stepped closer to Mickey under the fluorescent lighting. He separated the keychains out on Mickey’s palm so the man could see them individually while Ian explained their significance. “This one,” He pointed to a little red video game controller, “reminded me of playing video games at your place. And this one,” Ian flipped over a silver circular keychain and engraved on the other side was ‘Best Uncle Ever’, “is ‘cause I already know it’s true. “You were so excited when you told me about her and she’s not even here yet. And I know you’re gonna love her more than you love me, but I’ll find some way to live with that.” He joked. 

Mickey opened his mouth to speak, but forced himself to shut it soon after. He was genuinely speechless - which was a fucking once in a lifetime phenomena for him. Plus, he worried that if he tried to speak, he would burst into tears. It was a real possibility considering he could feel the tightness in his throat where all the emotion was gathering, forcing him to swallow thickly to keep it all down. All Mickey could do was step forward into Ian’s open arms, wrapping his own around Ian’s neck and burying his face in the hollow between his chin and shoulder. He could tell Ian hadn’t been expecting a hug, yet soon after, Mickey felt his boyfriend relax against him, and a pair of strong arms tighten around the small of his back. 

Ian pressed closer, inhaling Mickey’s natural scent - mixed with the subtle hints of his own shampoo - wishing he could hold onto it somehow. For now, he just squeezed Mickey. Words served no function between them. There was nothing left to separate them, literally and figuratively. A small part of Ian had always fallen for whoever he was with. Strong feelings came easy because he had so many of them to dispense. But with Mickey, it all felt different - it felt  _ real _ . 

They stood there, in each other's arms, for an unreasonably long period of time, and it was only when Mickey heard the ding of the elevator in the distance and the tail end of a conversation drifting their way, that he relented. He gave Ian one last hard squeeze, and gestured with the keys, jingling his new key chains. “You’re so fucking cheesy, man.” He chuckled, brushing off how fucking effected he was by the gesture. “Thank you.” Mickey muttered sincerely. 

“Don’t mention it.” Ian stood back, working up the nerve to ask Mickey for an article of clothing, maybe a jacket or a shirt, that he could hold onto, when it occurred to him that Mickey didn’t have his suitcases - hadn’t actually, since he had arrived. “Wait, where’s your shit? Like luggage and stuff?” 

“Put it in storage,” Mickey shrugged, taking his time moving towards the driver’s side door. “Didn’t wanna have any extra shit to distract me.” He unlocked the car, yanking open the door. He looked at Ian, wishing he didn’t have to leave. Wishing there was any other way. But there wasn’t, and Mickey knew the sooner he accepted it, the sooner he could be rid of Clyde and free to _ live _ . He easily picked up on the sadness in Ian’s eyes. 

“I’ll be back soon,” Mickey whispered, trying his best to give Ian a reassuring smile as he climbed into the driver's seat. “I promise…” 

Ian nodded again, not trusting himself to speak. He helped shut the door and then motioned for Mickey to roll the window down as the car engine rumbled to life, leaning his arms where the window had been, once it had slotted down all the way. “Can I uh… keep that sweatshirt for now?” He pointed across to the passenger’s seat where one of Mickey’s black hoodies was bunched up. He’d found it in the trunk and taken it out of the car before he’d dropped it off to get detailed, not knowing who would be pawing around the inside of his boyfriend’s car. Ian chewed the inside of his cheek, aware that he was most likely about to get roasted alive for being so sentimental. 

Mickey glanced at the sweatshirt, picking it up in his hands. He couldn’t resist grinning at Ian - the idea of the man cuddling his clothes and missing him was as sweet as it was heartbreaking, and Mickey knew if he didn’t make a joke out of it, he was bound to break down. “Here,” Mickey handed the sweatshirt to Ian, out through the open window, “I’ll let you keep it- on the condition that you don’t do any weird shit to it while I’m gone, alright?” Mickey tried to keep a straight face. “No wearing it for days without washing it, no cutting it up and making a goddamn voodoo doll, no freaky shit!” He pointed a finger straight in Ian’s face and let a small smile break through. “And… try not to fuck it, man...” At which point he dissolved into laughter.

“Shut up!” Ian groaned, pushing at Mickey’s forehead to get him to stop, which only made him laugh harder. He held the sweatshirt tightly against his chest before sliding his hand down to clamp over Mickey’s mouth, effectively muffling the laugh. Ian adored Mickey’s laugh, but he had to admit he loved it a little less when it was at his expense. “Smells like you, so I’m still the one winning.” Ian removed his hand to flip Mickey off, lifting the sweatshirt to his face and taking a comically deep sniff. “Mmm… sweet, just like a  _ short stack  _ of pancakes.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Yeah alright, fuckin’ weirdo.” He reached out through the window, hooking the collar of Ian’s shirt and pulling him forward, going for one last goodbye kiss. Ian craned his neck into the car, trying to get as close as humanly possible, however it just didn’t seem to be enough for him.

Yanking the door open, Ian stepped forward and bent low, dropping the sweatshirt onto Mickey's lap and cradling his face once more. Ian kissed him as hard as he could, removing the air from Mickey’s lungs, and providing him a moment to remember until they saw one another again. That’s what Ian wanted the sweatshirt for, after all. 

“I gotta go…” Mickey breathed out, once Ian had relented, putting space between them. It sounded like an apology, like he was begging Ian to understand and forgive him.

“I know.” Ian stood and squeezed Mickey’s hand before he stole the sweater back. “It’s alright… I  _ love _ you, Mick.” He smiled softly, stepping back to close the car door. 

“I know.” Mickey echoed his boyfriend as the car door shut. “I love you too. And don’t you dare fuckin’ forget it.”

*

By the time Mickey turned onto his street, he had finally swallowed the anxiety of having to return to Clyde, and it sat heavy in his gut like a stone. He was trying so desperately not to think of Ian, because thinking about him made every muscle in Mickey’s body itch to pull a u-turn and go back to Ian's apartment. 

The garage door opened at his command and Mickey slithered his car back into the spot in between Clyde’s vehicles. As the engine died down, he gripped the steering wheel harder than he realized, cutting off blood flow and turning his fingers white. Mickey stared down at his knuckles, at the faded ink that used to mean so much to him - long before he met Clyde. 

It may have seemed silly, but those tattoos had been a huge part of his identity at one point.  _ Mickey FUCK U-UP Milkovich _ . 

Everyday, the lines faded a bit more, disappearing slowly, and taking little pieces of Mickey with them. It’s what Clyde had done to him.  _ Changed _ him. And not for the better, as he had once made himself believe. 

Mickey allowed himself one more moment of self pity - one more minute to mourn the years of his life he had let Clyde  _ steal _ . He leaned forward, resting his forehead on the steering wheel and let it all wash over him. He let himself think about Ian. About how Ian loved him. About how Ian treated him like someone worth loving. 

Then, as the moment passed - Mickey sat upright in his seat, as if struck by lightning, filled with the determination to do what he had to in order to get through to the other side. He reached into his pocket and fished out his wallet, digging around in it until he located the ostentatious wedding band he had taken off weeks ago. 

Mickey turned it over in his palm, and held the ring between his fingers, glaring at it for a few seconds, before slipping it back onto his left hand. It felt a little tighter than usual, and Mickey wasn’t sure if it was in his head, but the symbolism was all too real. 

He was going to do it. He was going to go in, play nice with Clyde, and bide his time until the charade of a marriage was finally over, once and for all. 

Mickey was going to get his fucking  _ life _ back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you count how many times they kissed? (We lost count 😜)
> 
> We're getting to work on the next chapter ASAP, and we appreciate everyone for sticking with us. As always, kudos and comments are appreciated! We want to know what you think! ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! We will be posting a chapter update as soon as we can! Let us know what you think so far by commenting or leaving a kudos! :)


End file.
